


Descent Into Perdition

by dreamsofspike



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Coercion, Crowley/Gabriel end-game, Dark Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gabriel Needs to Be Hurt/Comforted Too, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Gabriel (Good Omens), M/M, Manipulation, Multi, No Happy Ending for Aziraphale, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rare Pairings, Seriously he is the bad-guy here, Sexual Abuse, Slave Gabriel (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 304,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: After the Apocalypse... isn't, the angel and the demon choose their faces wisely and successfully protect themselves from future reprisals from their respective Home Offices. But Crowley takes it a step farther. He can't help exacting a little well-placed revenge on the archangel who made his angel's life miserable for so many millennia. It's just a little intimidation, scare tactics, atouchof humiliation to remind Gabriel not to mess with them.If Crowley'd had any idea how far it would go... the damage and destruction that would grow from his brief moment of triumph and satisfaction... he'd never have done it.But it's too late for that now, isn't it?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 1839
Kudos: 361
Collections: Descent Into Perdition and DiP-verse Works, Good Omens Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This... is... very different from my usual stories. 
> 
> Not so much in the content, but in the relationship dynamics (and relationships) at play here. 
> 
> It's the result of a couple of different kink meme prompts that are kind of being filled together in this story... a story in which Aziraphale goes very, VERY dark. Crowley is... _slightly_ dark... and Gabriel gets, well... what he does NOT deserve in this story, though he may in others. 
> 
> Perhaps this should just be considered a bit of Repossession catharsis. 
> 
> But it's NOT related to Repossession, for the record. ;) 
> 
> Anyway... I know this is different. I hope you like it anyway. ;) 
> 
> *hugs*  
> DoS

It was an exhilarating rush, breathing a blast of hellfire at the archangels, and watching them tremble and shrink away from him in fear. Satisfying in a way he hadn’t really anticipated, to watch the way they went from total confidence in the judgment they had determined to pass on his angel… to obvious panic, when they found him impervious to said judgment. They’d intended to  _ kill _ Aziraphale here, today - and now, they were too frightened to come near him. 

Crowley was far more accustomed to being the one who was afraid. 

In Hell, it was more or less his constant state. 

He wasn’t exactly what one would call  _ intimidating _ . Cock-sure, yeah, with a confident swagger that managed to conceal his constant state of anxious apprehension from  _ most _ \- but not  _ all _ of his fellow demons. He could convince most of them, most of the time, that he was unafraid of their threats, unbothered by their intimidation tactics. 

But... threatening? Dangerous?  _ Crowley _ ? 

Not in the slightest. 

And, to be fair, they weren’t exactly afraid of  _ Crowley _ here, either. If he’d have shown up in his own flesh and breathed hellfire at them, they’d have most likely dodged it, before unceremoniously tackling him to the ground and making him quite definitely  _ very sorry _ for it. They’d have been expecting something of that nature; demons were  _ supposed _ to have hellfire at their command. 

_ Angels _ … were  _ not _ . 

Which was why three archangels who could have easily obliterated Crowley with a snap of any of their respective sets of fingers were now backpedaling away from him with stumbling, hurried steps, as he advanced on them with a grin that he knew looked all the more feral and frightening for being found on his angel’s sweet, kindly face. 

“Oh, dear,” he remarked in his best imitation of the deceptively polite, carefully civil tone Aziraphale used when he was an instant away from miracling some annoying customer out of his shop and into someplace  _ far _ less pleasant. “ _ That _ didn’t quite go as you were hoping, did it? I wonder why not?” 

“What…  _ are _ you?” Uriel breathed out in hushed horror, taking another step backward as Crowley moved closer to the archangels with a relaxed, unhurried pace, his hands folded, harmless and unassuming, behind his back as he approached. 

“Well, clearly… superior in power to  _ you _ lot, for one,” he replied with a sympathetic little grimace. “That much is obvious, isn’t it? Now, how exactly do you think  _ that _ might have happened?” 

“What do you  _ want _ ?” Gabriel frowned, glaring at Crowley with wary suspicion. “Why are you even here? You could have - have done  _ that  _ in the park, couldn’t you? So… why let us take you at all?” 

“ _ That _ is a very good question.” Crowley acknowledged it with an appreciative little nod in Gabriel’s direction, the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth quirking up a bit in mischievous amusement. “To make a point, I suppose. To  _ strongly suggest _ that perhaps you should…  _ curtail _ any further attempts to assassinate me. I think we can all agree that that’d be wise, yes?” 

Anxious and stammering and watching his every move with wide, fearful eyes, unable to get a coherent sentence out amongst the three of them - the archangels still managed to clearly convey their eager agreement. 

Crowley met each of their eyes in turn, coldly speculative, before nodding once with a slow, satisfied smile. “Very good. I’ll just be on my way, then.” 

He turned his back on them then, firmly stifling the deeply ingrained survival instincts screaming at him not to  _ dare _ do something so foolish, in favor of the power move that he knew it to be. He knew they wouldn’t attack him. Not when they had no idea what he was capable of, only that he was capable of things that should have been  _ beyond _ his capability - and were  _ certainly _ beyond theirs. 

He kept his pace measured and leisurely as he made his way toward the elevator, aware that the archangels were following at a careful distance. They didn’t come near enough to strike - not that they would have dared. He wondered why they’d follow him  _ at all _ , as spooked as they seemed. He pressed the elevator button, and half-turned toward them, giving them an Aziraphale-esque little wave and smile. They just shifted awkwardly on their feet, eyes averted - all three of them, their posture and demeanor taut with anxious impatience. 

And all at once, Crowley understood. 

They wanted to be sure he  _ actually left. _

He tapped his foot a bit, letting out an exaggerated sigh and glancing vaguely downward, in the direction from which the elevator was most certainly coming. Then he turned to face the archangels, giving them a knowing smirk and a little shrug.. 

“It’s only awkward if you  _ think _ it’s awkward,” he teased. 

They couldn’t even look at him - didn’t venture a word, and Crowley sighed again, turning back toward the slowest elevator in the history of elevators (though to be fair, it was also the  _ first _ and  _ oldest _ elevator in the history of elevators, and had rather the longest distance to travel of any elevator in the history of elevators, as well). 

His teasing words, designed to increase the archangels’ unease, were bullshit. 

It was  _ most definitely _ awkward. 

At last the elevator doors opened, and Crowley stepped inside with relief, turning back to face his audience with a cheeky little wave goodbye. But the taunting gesture was wasted on the archangels, who were whispering amongst themselves in anxious, hurried tones. Much to his surprise, all at once, the other two shoved Gabriel unceremoniously toward him, sending him stumbling a couple of steps nearer to the elevator. 

He turned and glared back at them, defensive and alarmed. 

“ _ Go _ !” Uriel hissed at him. 

Crowley raised one of Aziraphale’s eyebrows, though no one seemed to be looking at him at the moment. 

_ Go where? And do what, exactly? _

His questions were only partially answered when Gabriel reluctantly got into the elevator beside him, facing front as he did, glowering at his fellow archangels as the doors finally closed. 

The first few miles down were acutely, painfully silent. 

Any suspicions Crowley may have held that Gabriel had been sent to try to hurt or stop him in some way dissipated completely, as the tense archangel stayed as near to the wall, and as far from Crowley, as he possibly could. Watching Gabriel out of the corner of his eye, Crowley casually reached up a hand to brush through his own hair; Gabriel’s violet gaze darted after it, quick and sharp and wary. 

Crowley didn’t even try to suppress the huff of laughter that escaped his lips. 

“I - have business on Earth,” Gabriel explained, defensive. “Important business.” 

“Ah.” Crowley nodded once, with a knowing smirk. “Drew the short straw, did you?” 

Gabriel frowned in confusion, lips parted as if to respond, but remaining silent. 

Crowley rolled his eyes.  _ Of course _ Gabriel didn’t understand the most basic of human expressions. He’d never had any use for humans whatsoever; no wonder the nuances of their language were lost on him. 

“You lot took a vote, and you lost. Been sent to make  _ sure _ I leave quietly, yes?” 

Understanding finally dawned on Gabriel’s face, but he just glared uneasily at Crowley. “Look, we don’t have to talk,” he snapped. “I can just… escort you back down to Earth, and you can go on doing… whatever it is that you  _ do _ , and you’ll never have to see me again.” 

The faint note of  _ contempt _ \- for  _ Aziraphale _ \- that surfaced past Gabriel’s uneasiness and fear rankled under Crowley’s skin, stirring a deep-seated anger. That disgusted, belittling  _ tone _ of Gabriel’s, that he’d never had the opportunity to hear for himself, until today - but that had often sent Aziraphale back to Crowley subdued and a little lost, his voice quiet and small. 

“It’s nothing,” his angel had explained many times over, trying to smile past the sadness in his eyes. “Just… received a bit of a reprimand from Gabriel.” 

_ Shut your stupid mouth, and  _ die _ already… _

Crowley turned to face Gabriel fully, eyeing him with a cool, calculating smile - taking a moment to enjoy the alarm in the archangel’s widening eyes, even  _ before _ he took a slow, deliberate step nearer to him. Gabriel immediately jerked away from his advance, hard enough to hit the wall behind him, and Crowley felt a rush of vindictive anticipation.

_ This _ was going to be  _ fun _ . 

“Let’s be honest about this, shall we?” he remarked in Aziraphale’s familiar soft voice, but with a subtly sharp note behind the words that Crowley had only rarely heard from his angel’s lips. “What you mean is that then  _ you’ll _ never have to see  _ me _ again. Isn’t it?” 

Gabriel pressed his palms against the wall behind him, a few inches from the elevator’s control panel, fingers flexing, a convulsive swallow in his throat. “What’s the difference?” he muttered, his eyes lowered, unable to meet Crowley’s gaze. 

Crowley smiled, closing in on Gabriel until there was barely an inch of space between them. 

“The difference...” he replied softly, ducking his head to catch Gabriel’s wary, reluctant gaze - a challenge in his eyes  _ daring _ the archangel to make a move, to try to stop him, as he reached past him to the control panel and firmly pressed the stop button. “... is whether I am trapped in here with you… or  _ you _ are trapped in here… with  _ me _ .” Crowley raised his hand from the control panel and pressed it against the wall beside Gabriel instead, hemming him in. 

Gabriel swallowed hard, but didn’t venture to speak. Crowley noticed with amusement, however, that his trembling fingers were inching along the wall toward the controls. He kept his tone soft and speculative, betraying nothing. 

“Now which do you suppose is the  _ truth _ of our situation, here?” 

The words had barely left his lips when he lifted his hand from the wall, a swift, graceful gesture with his fingers shooting a lightning-sharp bolt of hellfire into the control panel, very near to Gabriel’s hand. The archangel jerked his hand away in alarm, his breath catching in his throat with panic, as the entire panel of buttons - including the big, shiny red “HELP” button that had no doubt been his target - melted into an oozing, sizzling, blackened mess. 

“Ah. Well, then.” Crowley gave him a knowing little nod, and a cruel smile, grasping Gabriel’s wrist and pinning it against the wall beside him. “There’s our answer, isn’t it?” When Gabriel didn’t respond, he pressed softly, “ _ Isn’t it _ ?” 

Gabriel nodded in defeat, his expression taut with fear.

“Yes,” Crowley went on, his tone quiet and controlled. “And we’ll have no more of that sort of nonsense, will we, Gabriel?”

Gabriel shook his head, the gesture halting and shaky, as he visibly struggled to maintain control of his reactions, to maintain some semblance of calm - and failed utterly. His face was turned away from Crowley, into the wall, his breath quick and shallow in a fear response that he probably didn’t even understand. Crowley highly doubted that Gabriel had had much occasion to fear  _ anything _ in… well,  _ ever _ . 

Crowley was more than happy to further the archangel’s education. 

He traced a single finger lightly across Gabriel’s mouth, smiling when he shuddered, lips parting in a frightened gasp, but didn’t dare to pull away. Crowley offered a deceptively gentle suggestion in Aziraphale’s soft, demure tone.

“It’s really best if you cooperate. Don’t you think?” 

Gabriel nodded, closing his eyes, swallowing slowly. 

“Very good. So tell me,  _ archangel _ …” He allowed a trace of mockery to twist the word on his lips, transforming it from a term of respect to a reminder of how useless a title it was under these circumstances. 

Purely  _ fictional _ circumstances, of course - but  _ Gabriel _ didn’t know that. 

“... now that I’ve got you alone… suspended here, miles between Heaven and Earth… miles from anyone who might have  _ thought _ of attempting to help you…” He edged in closer, relishing the quickening of Gabriel’s breath, the faint tremor he could see in the archangel’s broad, taut shoulders. 

“... just what do you suppose I should  _ do _ with you?” 

Gabriel remained silent for a long moment, until he finally glanced up long enough to see the expectant, falsely patient expression Crowley was leveling at him, and realized that he actually expected an answer. 

“You... should… realize that I was just  _ doing my job _ ,” he replied at last, tense and anxious, and unable to hold Crowley’s piercing gaze. “We… thought we were  _ supposed _ to…”

“Oh, no,” Crowley cut him off sharply, and Gabriel flinched a little. “You were  _ informed _ . The Great Plan, versus God’s Ineffable Plan - if it’d been Her will for the world to end, it’d have ended. And if it’d been  _ your job _ to  _ execute me _ …” He firmly turned Gabriel’s face back toward him a little, silently demanding eye contact. When Gabriel reluctantly gave it, he smiled coldly. “... I’d be dead. Wouldn’t I?” 

Gabriel’s troubled frown was genuine, as was the uncertainty in his honest answer. “I - I don’t know.” 

“You and the rest of Heaven may not be pleased with me… but  _ Someone _ clearly is,” Crowley pointed out, his smile widening at the trace of panicked realization he saw in Gabriel’s eyes. “I’d say it seems you’ve made a  _ very _ grave mistake.” 

Gabriel drew in a shuddering, uneven breath, shaking his head. “I - I didn’t know…” 

“ _ I’m still speaking _ .” Crowley remembered at the last moment to control the natural hiss in his words, as his hand shot out to grasp Gabriel’s throat, pushing him back against the wall. Gabriel winced, falling silent, and making absolutely no attempt to pull away or dislodge Crowley’s hand. 

A good thing, as he could have managed it with the slightest bit of effort. 

But Crowley was beginning to enjoy the effects of this illusion of power, and intended, before he was finished, to gain every trace of advantage he could for himself and his angel. 

“You just adore the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” he sneered, sharp and menacing. “Even when you’re dreadfully  _ wrong _ . Even when you’ve used it to pass false judgment, to impose an unjust sentence, against the will of the Almighty.” 

Gabriel shivered, bowing his head, shaking it slightly, lips parted to protest, but finding no words to defend his actions, or counter Crowley’s accusations. 

“But even so,” Crowley continued, his tone softening, relenting, “you, archangel, are the only one among your peers who thought to ask… the  _ right question _ .” 

Gabriel frowned slightly with confusion - and then his furrowed brow eased with understanding. He opened his eyes, looking up at Crowley warily. His voice was hoarse, hushed and heavy with resignation. 

“ _ What… what do you want? _ ” 

“I want you to make sure that all of Heaven knows they’re not to attempt this sort of foolishness again - this…  _ extraordinary rendition _ , was it?” Crowley smirked. 

“We won’t,” Gabriel promised. “I’ll make sure that we won’t…” 

“I’m to be left alone. As is the demon Crowley.”

“Yes,” Gabriel agreed, nodding against Crowley’s hand, still resting loose against his throat. “We’ll stay out of your way. I swear.” 

When Crowley didn’t speak again, nor let him go, Gabriel swallowed hard, glancing up into his eyes with uncertainty. 

“What… what else?” he ventured, soft and subdued. 

Crowley let go of Gabriel, taking a single step back, but his eyes were narrowed, a note of warning in his voice. “What would  _ you _ want, if you’d just been wrongfully condemned and nearly executed?” 

“An - an apology,” Gabriel offered at last, finally figuring it out. “Right.” He nodded, drawing in a shaky breath - preparing himself. He cleared his throat, reaching up an unsteady hand to adjust the knot of his tie where Crowley had dislodged it. He straightened his shoulders, and at last met Crowley’s eyes. His voice was a little stronger when he continued. “On - on behalf of Heaven, Aziraphale, I - I apologize.” 

“How very touching.  _ On behalf of Heaven _ ,” Crowley sneered, anger sparking in his chest at Gabriel’s attempt to relieve himself of the personal responsibility - at the pious, overly official  _ distance _ of it all. “What about you? Are  _ you _ sorry, Gabriel?” He lifted his hand between them, allowing the tiniest flickers of hellfire to rise from his fingertips, relishing the dread in Gabriel’s eyes as they locked onto the tiny sparks of flame. He waited until Gabriel met his eyes again to smile coldly. “Because if you’re not, I could  _ help _ you with that…” 

“I am,” Gabriel assured him, panicked urgency in his voice. “I am sorry, we -  _ I  _ was… was  _ wrong _ .” 

“Hm.” Crowley kept his tone and expression flat and unimpressed, lifting a skeptical brow. “I’m afraid I’m still finding your sincerity somewhat…  _ lacking _ , at this point…”

“I  _ am _ sincere, Aziraphale,” Gabriel insisted, earnestly. “I am, I mean it. I swear.” 

His desperation only served to fuel the building hunger Crowley felt. For justice for Aziraphale. For a bit of payback on his angel’s behalf. 

For Gabriel’s utter and abject humiliation. 

“ _ Show me _ that you mean it.” 

Gabriel’s wide, blinking eyes… the blank cluelessness there… Crowley found it infuriating. He shot a sharp, brief blast of hellfire just over Gabriel’s head in warning. The archangel ducked with a choked, startled cry, pressed back against the wall, his shoulders hunched and head lowered, one arm raised to shield his face. . 

“That’s it,” Crowley said softly, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That’s the idea. Only…” He grasped Gabriel’s upraised wrist, allowing the heat from the hellfire to linger in his touch, and enjoying the way it made Gabriel shiver, as he pushed down slightly. 

“...  _ lower _ .” 

Gabriel looked stricken, sick, when he finally understood, and slowly, awkwardly went to his knees in front of Crowley. 

“Now.” Crowley’s voice was soft with menace as he commanded, “Apologize  _ properly _ . Like you  _ mean _ it.” 

Gabriel looked up at Crowley’s face for a moment, before his gaze dropped again, falling on the front of Aziraphale’s trousers, uncomfortably close to his face. The archangel grimaced with revulsion. Crowley suppressed his amusement. Gabriel was always so disgusted by all things human, especially relating to the  _ physical functions _ of being human…

He took perverse pleasure in taking a step closer, drawing a distressed, indignant little sound from Gabriel’s throat. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he repeated; any trace of his former confidence had vanished from his small, hesitant voice, driven from him by this helpless, vulnerable position so very unfamiliar to him. “I’m sorry, all right? I shouldn’t have. I - won’t ever again, I swear, Aziraphale…”

“I’m afraid that’s not enough, Gabriel,” Crowley informed him, making Aziraphale’s voice sharp and cold. “You’ve deeply offended me with this behavior - and frankly, your behavior over the past several millennia. I’m one of the host of Heaven, am I not?” 

“Yes, you are, of course you are,” Gabriel insisted, nearly frantic. 

“Your  _ brother _ ,” Crowley continued, an edge of anger creeping into his voice, which continued to rise, trembling and heated, with every word. “Yet you’ve  _ never _ treated me as such, have you? Always belittling, always judging and insulting… and now, it’s come to this - the point where rather than approach me to discuss the situation, rather than consider any other options - you were ready to  _ destroy _ me? To reject me  _ completely _ ? What sort of  _ family _ does that?” 

All right, yeah. It was possible that Crowley was…  _ projecting _ . 

Just a bit. 

But every word was as true for Aziraphale as it was for him. He’d long since come to terms with the hurt he’d experienced at Heaven’s hands. But he was  _ done _ allowing Heaven’s cold, pious cruelty to cause  _ his angel  _ pain. 

The fires of Hell glowed red hot in Crowley’s eyes -  _ Aziraphale’s _ eyes - and sparks crackled, electric and eager, from the tips of his fingers, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. When he was finished, Gabriel wouldn’t  _ dare _ to try to hurt Aziraphale again - and he wouldn’t allow the others to, either. 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel repeated, again and again, fairly babbling out apologies and excuses in desperate terror, eyes darting back and forth between Crowley’s furious face, and the threatening sparks of fire glowing in his hand. “Aziraphale, I’m sorry, I was wrong, I’m sorry…” 

Crowley silenced him as in one single motion he suppressed the hellfire, drawing it back into himself until the sparks had vanished. By the time he placed his hand gently under Gabriel’s chin, tilting his head back and shutting his mouth, it was nothing more than a searing warning heat in his touch. 

“You know… I think I believe you,” he relented a little at last. “I’m…  _ almost _ convinced.” He was quiet fpr a moment, removing his hand and taking a step nearer. “Would you like to  _ prove _ you’re sorry, Gabriel? To make it up to me?” 

Gabriel nervously eyed the front of Aziraphale’s trousers, the bulge there that was somewhat more prominent than usual at the moment, and directly in front of his face. Crowley suppressed a vindictive smile; if Aziraphale’s  _ lunch _ repulsed Gabriel, then his  _ effort _ would most certainly be an... adequate test of Gabriel’s contrition. 

Crowley had to admit to himself that he was impressed, when despite the clear revulsion in his eyes, Gabriel looked up at him and nodded once, solemn and quietly pleading. 

“Wh-what do you want me to do?” 

Crowley hesitated a moment, deliberating. 

He was by no means willing to take this test to its obvious conclusion - certainly not without Aziraphale’s consent. And even then, he had no desire for the pompous, arrogant archangel to  _ touch _ him - even this rather more appealing, broken, desperate version of him. 

But… he  _ did _ want to see just how far Gabriel would go. 

“Think for a moment,” he suggested quietly, his expression cold and expectant. “I’m quite certain you can figure it out.” 

Gabriel looked down again from Crowley’s face, swallowing slowly. 

He was beginning to get it. 

And while Crowley didn’t want Gabriel’s mouth - or hands, or _anything_ \- on him, whether he was in Aziraphale’s corporation or his own; what he _did_ want was that desperate, helpless look he saw in Gabriel’s eyes… the shame and humiliation that began to color the archangel’s face as he visibly resigned himself to what was going to happen - to the fact that he was for once at the mercy of someone else, faced with the consequences of his own arrogance and pride and cruelty… and that _no one_ was going to help him. 

If Gabriel wasn’t  _ quite _ there yet… he was getting there, and quickly. 

He looked up into Crowley’s eyes again, panic in his gaze. “I - I can’t.” 

“ _ Won’t _ ,” Crowley corrected sharply, eyes narrowed. 

“ _ Haven’t _ ,” Gabriel explained, with pleading frustration. “ _ Ever _ . I mean - I…” He hesitated, his voice uncharacteristically soft and small as he admitted, “I - I don’t know how.” 

“It’s simple enough,” Crowley replied, falsely sweet, almost kind, as he touched Gabriel again, fingers heated with the barest trace of the fires of Hell trailing up the column of his throat to rest against his cheek. “You just do  _ exactly as I say _ .” He drew his thumb across Gabriel’s parted, trembling lips, allowing the slightest spark, like static electricity, to sear the sensitive skin, and Gabriel flinched away from the heat, but didn’t dare pull away any farther. “Unless you’d prefer to burn…” he suggested. “My control is impeccable, you know. I can make it quick…” He paused, a cruel smile twisting his mouth. “... or I can make it  _ last _ .” He frowned - thoughtful, musing, as he tilted Gabriel’s head back again. “Hmm. Where to begin? Just  _ what _ shall I burn away  _ first _ ?” 

Gabriel drew in a shuddering gasp, eyes shut tight. “I-I can,” he blurted out desperately. “I will. Do wh-what you say. Whatever you want, I’ll do it…” He was quiet for a moment, before looking up at Crowley again, violet eyes shining with unshed tears, his single remaining word hoarse and choked and desperate. “ _ Please _ …”

And  _ that _ was  _ immensely _ satisfying. 

As often as this arrogant prick of an archangel had harassed and tormented Aziraphale - as many times as he’d made him cry, even if he’d managed to get out of Gabriel’s sight and into Crowley’s arms before he’d done it - it felt like a tremendous victory to see him brought low and pleading for mercy… and believing that it was  _ Aziraphale _ who held the power to give or deny it. 

This.  _ This _ was what Crowley wanted. 

Gabriel’s shaking hands reached toward the front of Aziraphale’s trousers, fumbling hastily with the zipper. All at once revolted, Crowley sharply slapped his hands away. Gabriel flinched, holding up a hand in front of his face, defensive or pleading, Crowley couldn’t be sure. 

It didn’t really matter. He -  _ Aziraphale _ had clearly won. 

He crouched down in front of Gabriel, granting him an indulgent smile. “No,” he mused. “I think not. Not just yet, anyway.” Best to leave Gabriel with the threat of consequences merely deferred, should he ever get it into his head to go after Aziraphale again. “But… I appreciate your willingness,” Crowley graciously allowed. “You  _ would _ , if I asked.” He paused a moment, waiting until Gabriel looked up at him to lift a suggestive brow. “Good to know.” 

Gabriel stared up at him for a long moment, stricken, his panicked mind slow to process the realization that he’d been granted a reprieve from both hellfire destruction,  _ and _ corporal humiliation. When it seemed to sink in, Gabriel let out a deep, gasping breath, his shoulders falling with relief as he lowered his head into one trembling hand to hide his face. 

Crowley watched him with silent contempt for a moment, before slowly rising back to his feet. His gaze still focused on Gabriel, he waved a hand toward the control panel and restored it to full working order. Instantly the elevator began to move again, continuing its descent toward the Earth. During the short remaining distance they had to travel, Gabriel remained where he was on the floor, half-kneeling, half-sitting - quiet and subdued, until the elevator reached Earth, and the doors opened. 

Gabriel looked up at Crowley then, with harrowed, wary eyes, and Crowley allowed a broad grin to spread across Aziraphale’s face. Finally facing forward and stepping out of the elevator, without turning around, Crowley left the archangel with one last good scare… something to think about for a while once Crowley had gone. 

“ _ See you soon _ .” 

He didn’t have to look at Gabriel to sense the terror those words inspired, and he smiled a little to himself as he headed toward the bookshop, and his angel, eager to fill him in on all the delicious little details of how he’d put the archangel in his place, and ensured their safety from any further Heavenly attack. 

He’d been right, he mused, triumphant and satisfied. 

That  _ was _ fun. 


	2. Chapter 2

A week had passed since the respective failed executions of the traitors to Heaven and Hell - and Aziraphale and Crowley had been most blissfully left alone. 

Aziraphale put a “closed” sign in the window of the bookshop, and he and Crowley retreated to the peaceful quiet of the upstairs apartment above it. Aziraphale was quite relieved that the world went on, and that the throngs of delightful humans continued to mill about the streets and go about their daily lives as if nothing had happened at all. 

He simply had no desire whatsoever to interact with any of them any time soon. 

The distant sound of their voices and the traffic and the city drifting in through the open window with the cool autumn breeze was all the contact he wanted at the moment with the outside world. He closed his eyes and nestled in closer to Crowley. The demon let out an approving little hum, settling deeper into the sofa beneath them, his long arms wrapped comfortably snug around Aziraphale’s body. 

It was perfect, and  _ safe _ , and everything Aziraphale had wished for, for hundreds of years, at least. 

And yet, his mind was…  _ preoccupied _ . 

“Tell it again.” 

Crowley’s laugh was low and affectionate, and not really at all surprised. He waved a hand in a vague gesture that took in several messy stacks of books scattered in various places around the room all at once. 

“All these books you love like children, and  _ this _ is your favorite story?” 

“Well, because  _ you’re _ in it,” Aziraphale explained, feeling a faint flush begin to rise in his cheeks, an oddly defensive feeling tightening in his chest. 

“Fairly certain I’m in a good number of those, too,” Crowley pointed out, a note of dark humor in his voice. 

“Yes, I suppose, in some form or another, but in  _ this _ one, you’re… defending me against my enemies.” Aziraphale turned a little in Crowley’s arms to give him an adoring, disarming smile. “You’re  _ exquisitely _ heroic.” 

Crowley smirked, looking away, shaking his head a little. “Don’t think many of those other stories paint me in that sort of light,” he admitted. 

“The way you’re so… fierce, and powerful, and bring my enemies literally to their knees, well… it’s a fascinating tale. I find myself…” Aziraphale drew his hand slowly up Crowley’s leg as he spoke, glancing up at him with a sly, teasing smile. “... quite unable to put it down.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale over an expression of knowing amusement, making it clear without a word that he was  _ onto him _ , fully aware of his fairly harmless manipulation - before surrendering to it with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. 

“Oh, all right, angel, as you like.” 

Aziraphale turned again so that his back was pressed into Crowley’s chest, resting his head against Crowley’s shoulder and closing his eyes, the better to visualize the story he was about to hear - for perhaps the fifth or sixth time since the events had occurred. 

“Well, there they were, standing there all menacing and what have you, waiting for me to just… politely step into the hellfire and be consumed like a good little angel, but little did they know…” 

“Yes, yes, but could you… skip ahead a bit?” Aziraphale kept his eyes closed, feeling oddly self-conscious. “To the bit… in the elevator?” 

Crowley fell silent for a long moment, and Aziraphale felt the heat of embarrassment as he imagined the expression on Crowley’s face - because he couldn’t bring himself to look and see it for himself. 

Apocalypse or no, regardless of what side he was or was no longer affiliated with, Aziraphale was quite certain that it was at the very least…  _ inappropriate _ for an angel to take such pleasure in the mental images that accompanied…  _ certain parts _ of Crowley’s story. 

The parts involving Gabriel’s utter humiliation and terror. 

He wasn’t quite sure why it was those  _ particular _ details of the story that most arrested his focus, creeping into his mind in moments when he was busy with something else and distracting him until he realized, startled, that he’d allowed himself to pass far more time in fantasy than he’d meant to. 

Perhaps it was the fact that it was just so very  _ difficult  _ to imagine: Gabriel… _ scared _ . 

The archangel had always been so intimidating, so full of such insufferable arrogance, so maddeningly certain of his own power and  _ rightness _ . The thought of that cool control  _ shattered _ , Gabriel at least  _ believing _ himself to be at the mercy of another - Aziraphale could hardly visualize it. So, he found himself continually trying, mulling over the idea in his mind until the image became vivid and clear, and sharp with a sweet thrill of satisfaction. 

It was that satisfaction that was…  _ problematic _ . 

There was no trace of judgment in Crowley’s voice as he recounted the story yet again. Beneath the humor in his tone, however, Aziraphale could detect a certain sadness, a compassion for the hurt and shame Aziraphale had experienced at Gabriel’s hands, that left him with the desire to hear this particular story again and again. 

“He was bloody well  _ terrified _ , angel,” Crowley reiterated with grim satisfaction. “Would have done anything I - anything  _ you _ told him. On his knees, shaking, pleading…”

“You said before he was…  _ crying _ ?” 

“Not quite, but… it was a near thing.” 

In the image in Aziraphale’s mind, it was not a near thing. By this point he could clearly visualize… streaks of tears flowing from Gabriel’s violet eyes, large and wide and desperate, staring up at Aziraphale from where he knelt before him. The way his mouth probably trembled as he struggled to choke out a word that was most likely a brand new addition to his vocabulary. 

_ Please… _

_ Please, Aziraphale… please, don’t... _

With every retelling, Aziraphale found that the most satisfying parts of the story were slowly...  _ evolving _ from the things Crowley had told him into deeper, more intricate images, into things that  _ hadn’t _ happened, that  _ might _ have happened had Gabriel reacted a bit differently… if Crowley had been just a touch bolder, or... or  _ crueler _ . 

“He deserved it, angel.” Crowley’s voice was soft but certain. “Every second of it.” 

Aziraphale realized only then how long he’d remained quiet following Crowley’s conclusion of the story, and how Crowley seemed to have misinterpreted his silence. 

There was  _ no question _ in his mind that Gabriel  _ most definitely _ deserved it. 

“He was going to  _ kill _ you,” Crowley continued, arguing a point of which Aziraphale was already convinced. “He’d have deserved it if I’d gone through with it. Not that I would have, but… a bit of humiliation, a good scare -  _ least  _ he’s got coming to him.” 

“I know,” Aziraphale agreed. “I’m  _ glad  _ you did what you did, Crowley. The only thing is that I wish… well, I just wish I could have been there.  _ Actually _ been there, I mean, to… see it for myself.” 

Crowley was quiet for a moment, before drawing his conclusions, in a tone that was knowing, but also accepting and understanding - without judgment. “To  _ do it  _ for yourself.” 

“I - I suppose, yes,” Azirpahale admitted. “And it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, Crowley, I truly do, it’s just…”

“I get it.” Crowley’s fingers curled gently through Aziraphale’s hair, the soothingly pleasurable contact easing the edge of Aziraphale’s anxiety as much as his gentle tone. “You deserved to have that moment, angel. To - put him in his place, after all he’s done to you - all the times he’s treated you like shit. And that’s the one thing I’m sorry about - that you won’t get that moment of triumph. But - as far as  _ he’s _ concerned, you did, yeah?” 

A dozen different incidents flashed through Aziraphale’s mind - a mere fraction of the times during the past 6000 years that Gabriel had berated him with harsh, insulting words; threatened him with words too deceptively mild and professional for Aziraphale to be  _ quite _ certain they were threats at all; humiliated him by calling attention to his failings and shortcomings in the presence of other angels. 

All in the name of “helping” him to better do his duty. 

_ “This is for your own good, Aziraphale. To help you learn to be better at your job, to make you a better angel.” _ He could clearly remember the cool smile on Gabriel’s lips.  _ “That’s my job, right? To help you become the best…  _ you,  _ you can be?” _ The malicious amusement in Gabriel’s eyes as he’d looked Aziraphale up and down with barely veiled disgust.  _ “We’ll get there,”  _ he’d said, falsely encouraging, deliberately raising his voice to be heard by other angels nearby.  _ “I mean, it’s not a very high bar to clear, is it?”  _

The hushed, stifled laughter of his peers, the  _ burning  _ of shame on his face, were more than an echo of memory. 

He only wished that the mental image of  _ Gabriel _ suffering such humiliation, feeling such helplessness, were as clear. 

Hearing Crowley tell the story. Playing it over in his mind, visualizing it, imagining himself saying and doing the things Crowley had done - and other things,  _ worse _ things, and the incredible satisfaction of Gabriel’s reactions to it all - it would have to be enough. 

But with each day that passed, Aziraphale realized with increasing clarity and certainty. 

It wasn’t. 

*************************************************************************************

Crowley found Aziraphale’s preoccupation with his encounter with Gabriel…  _ concerning _ . 

It wasn’t as if he could blame him. 

Incessantly, over the millennia, Gabriel had bullied Aziraphale, throwing his metaphysical weight around in order to make Crowley’s angel feel small and foolish and insignificant - and Crowley himself had wanted to cut the archangel down to size many, many times. It was perfectly understandable that Aziraphale would want the same. 

But… the way he asked to hear the story over and over, the specificity of the questions he asked, the details he wanted to hear repeated: the precise words Gabriel had used when expressing that he was  _ wrong _ and he was  _ sorry _ … the way the archangel had trembled and flinched away when Crowley barely touched him…

… the way he’d looked on his knees, with tears in his eyes, as he looked up at Crowley and  _ pleaded for mercy _ …

Over the next couple of weeks, however, Aziraphale gradually stopped asking to hear the story again - and Crowley was relieved. 

Until one cool, sunny afternoon, when he walked down to the shop to see Aziraphale shrugging into his coat and walking toward the door. 

“Where you headed, angel?” 

Aziraphale turned toward Crowley with a startled, trapped expression in his eyes - and immediately his heart sank, an anxious fluttering beginning in the pit of his stomach, a certainty that something  _ was not right _ here. 

Crowley’d performed enough successful temptations over the millennia to know  _ guilt  _ when he saw it. 

“Just… out,” Aziraphale non-answered with a smile that was too bright and hopeful that Crowley would not question further. 

No such luck. 

“Out where?” 

“On… an errand.” Aziraphale waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing important or dangerous or... “ He winced, as if realizing he’d already said too much. “... anything.” 

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow and fixing Aziraphale with an unrelenting gaze. “ _ Angel. _ ” 

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, his brow furrowed, visibly torn, before his shoulders fell and he sighed. With careful deliberation, he took off his coat, hanging it up again and turning to face Crowley fully. He closed the distance between himself and Crowley, wordlessly extending his hand. 

Crowley’s eyes narrowed speculatively. Finally, with some reservation, he reached out his own hand to take Aziraphale’s, allowing the angel to lead him into the backroom, where they sat down together on the sofa. 

“What’s going on, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, half-dreading the answer. It wasn’t like his angel to be this secretive. “What are you up to?” 

“Well, I’ve been… thinking. And… more than thinking, really, since - what happened in Heaven. With - with Gabriel…” 

Crowley studied Aziraphale closely, his stomach sinking. “Yes…?” 

“And I thought it’d be best if we could, at least at some rudimentary level, track his movements. For safety’s sake. I’ve used… human magic to develop a sort of - well, a warning system. I performed a ritual to place a… a very specific sort of warding magic in place in order to - well, to let me know when Gabriel is on Earth. And… he’s on Earth now, as it so happens.” 

Crowley took in his words, nodding slowly. That didn’t sound so bad, so far. It actually made perfectly sound, logical sense. 

Except for the part where Aziraphale had been  _ on his way out the door _ . 

“Good thinking,” he replied, carefully watching for Aziraphale’s reaction as he pointedly continued, “That sort of warning system will help us keep an eye out for him. So we can  _ avoid him _ . Wouldn’t do for him to get the chance to figure out about the switch, right? Which is why we need to  _ keep our distance _ .” 

“Right.” Aziraphale looked away with a sheepish little grimace. “Yes, that would be… the wisest thing. But… we do need to know that the warding is working, right? I should at least… go and see…”

“Just go and  _ see _ Gabriel,” Crowley echoed dubiously. “And… not interact at all.  _ That’s _ what you were going to do.” 

Aziraphale winced, letting out a tremulous, defeated sigh that was answer enough. “It’s just… well, you said yourself you wished it could have been me, Crowley, and - and this is a way that it could be, that I could know with certainty that he’s… properly intimidated and won’t be coming after us…”

“Wait,  _ wait, _ angel,” Crowley protested, holding up a hand to halt Aziraphale’s rambling, anxious words. “First off, that’s…  _ not  _ what I said, not really. And how does it make sense to make yourself feel  _ safer _ by placing yourself in  _ danger _ again? Ensure he won’t come after you by  _ going after him _ ? It’s done, angel, they’re leaving us alone! And that’s what  _ we _ should do. With  _ ‘well enough’ _ . Yeah?” 

“But I wouldn’t  _ be _ in any danger, Crowley,” Aziraphale argued. “You said he didn’t even lift a finger to defend himself against you. Against -  _ me _ . He didn’t try anything. He won’t try anything this time, either. And - I just need to - to see it for myself. How he responds to… to me. And then - then I’ll feel better, and - I won’t have to keep thinking about it, and wondering, and - I’ll be able to - to move on and - accept that we’re safe.” 

Crowley got it. 

Aziraphale had felt so powerless against Heaven, against  _ Gabriel _ , for so long. The very idea of  _ overpowering _ Gabriel was fascinating to him. It was why he’d wanted the story repeated so many times. It was only natural that Aziraphale would want to feel that satisfaction for himself - but giving into that impulse, that sort of dark  _ desire _ \- it was far too dangerous. 

In many different ways. 

“He didn’t try anything with me because I’d just breathed Hellfire at him,” Crowley pointed out quietly. “Can you _breathe hellfire_ , angel?” 

Aziraphale swallowed slowly, looking away, and Crowley well recognized the subtly stubborn set to his jaw - knew that getting through to him at this point was going to be difficult if not impossible. 

Still, he had to try. 

“What if he  _ does _ try something this time?” he persisted. “Aziraphale, what if he  _ hurts _ you?” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, his tone as stiff as his shoulders when he spoke. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, I am capable of being intimidating when the occasion calls for it. I won’t need to breathe hellfire to convince him that I’m not to be trifled with.” He looked up at Crowley. “I’ve no intention of engaging in some sort of - of  _ brawl _ with him, Crowley. I just want to - to talk to him. To see for myself. How he responds. How he reacts. If he’s still as - afraid of me as you say he is. Surely you can - can see why that’s important to me.” 

Crowley  _ could _ see. 

And he also saw that this was a battle lost already - a fantasy that had been played out countless times in his angel’s head, until the eventual reality of it was a given thing. A temptation that had already been surrendered to in all but actual deed. 

Aziraphale’s mind was made up - and Crowley would not be changing it. 

He sat there in silence for a moment, holding his Aziraphale’s hand. He didn’t bother with any further argument or rationalization, but appealed to his angel with simple honesty. 

“I don’t want you to do this.” 

Aziraphale held his gaze, level and calm. “I realize that, dear.” He twitched slightly, as if in reaction to some sound that only he could hear, and then his mouth tightened into a taut line, before he gave Crowley a rather unhappy smile. “And at any rate, he’s no longer on Earth. The opportunity has passed, so you needn’t worry.” 

“But there’ll be another opportunity,” Crowley pointed out, a heavy, ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Aziraphale nodded once. “There will,” he agreed. 

And Crowley knew that despite his misgivings, despite anything he could do or say to dissuade his angel, when another opportunity arose… Aziraphale would take it. 

*****************************************************************************

It felt good to be honest with Crowley. 

Aziraphale knew that Crowley disapproved - and  _ that _ was a strange and uncomfortable feeling that he hadn’t ever quite experienced before - but it felt…  _ cleansing _ , somehow, to no longer be hiding his steadily rising obsession, to be open with his love about what he was feeling and what he was planning - like reciting one’s sins and receiving, if not quite  _ absolution _ … at least, acceptance and understanding. 

Several days after his confession, Aziraphale was seated at his desk in the bookshop’s back room, going over the books. He was preparing, albeit quite reluctantly, to reopen the shop -  _ sometime _ in the coming weeks, for a few hours, at least. 

A soft knock on the door jamb drew his attention, and he turned in his chair. 

“Crowley, darling,” he greeted his demon with a warm smile, which faded slightly when met with the solemn expression on Crowley’s face. 

Aziraphale’s gaze was drawn downward to Crowley’s hands, held palms up in front of him and carrying something with the caution and reverence of an offering. Upon closer examination, Aziraphale saw that it was a rather elegant, deadly sharp blade - iridescent in the light, both beautiful and dreadful. 

Aziraphale rose from his seat, taking a step toward Crowley and reaching out a hand to touch it. 

Crowley immediately turned it away from Aziraphale with a sharp, alarmed intake of breath. 

“Careful, angel,” he advised. “This weapon is dangerous…” 

“Well, I’d dare say so. Isn’t that the purpose of a weapon?” Aziraphale smiled. 

Crowley did not. “Specifically for you,” he clarified, his expression and tone solemn and warning. “For -  _ angels _ . I’ve infused this blade with a touch of hellfire, Aziraphale.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale regarded the blade again with a wary gaze. 

“Not the handle, that’s safe for you to touch. But - if you touch the blade at all, you’ll get a nasty burn, and if you cut yourself with it, you won’t be able to heal it with a miracle - could even be fatal, if it’s bad enough, and I mean _permanently_ _fatal_. If you’re going to handle this thing at all, you have to be _very_ careful.” 

Aziraphale frowned, looking up to study Crowley’s face. “And…  _ why _ would I need to handle it?” 

Crowley’s expression was unhappy, but resigned. He drew in a breath and let it out in a sigh. “In case he tries to hurt you.” 

With sudden clarity, Aziraphale understood the purpose of Crowley’s gift - and how much it had cost him to give it. He swallowed slowly past the sudden knot in his throat, his words coming out thick and hoarse. 

“He made no attempt to defend himself against you,” he reminded Crowley softly. “He was too frightened to fight back at all.” 

“Yes,” Crowley agreed, with a grim nod. “And if that happened to  _ me _ \- I’d probably try to be prepared to fight back the next time.” 

Aziraphale took that in, processing, then shook his head, biting his lip for a moment before venturing, “You - don’t want me to see him. Why would you do this, Crowley?” 

“Because you’re determined to do it anyway. And I at least want you to be  _ safe _ about it.” 

Aziraphale stared into Crowley’s golden eyes, solemn with worry, shining with love. He looked down at the blade, before taking it carefully in his hand. He turned and set it down on the desk, before turning back to face Crowley again and meeting his eyes once more. 

With the dangerous weapon out of play, he closed the remaining distance between them with a single slow, deliberate step. He then reached up to grasp the back of Crowley’s neck and draw him down for a slow, tender kiss that could not even begin to convey the gratitude and awe he felt. He drew back at last, his heart aching with love for his demon when Crowley moved toward him a little as he withdrew, eyes still closed, a soft, shaky breath escaping his lips. 

He tilted his head downward, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s, an aching plea in his voice. “ _ Angel _ …”

“I’ll be careful,” Aziraphale promised when Crowley opened his eyes, his anxious concern clear on his face. “I promise, my love. I’ve no intention of actually  _ using _ that lovely, deadly thing, because I’ve no intention of harming Gabriel, and I’m quite certain based on what you’ve told me that he has no intention of harming me, either. It’s just a precaution… just in case.” 

“Right,” Crowley whispered, nodding. “All right.” 

Aziraphale knew that Crowley was far from “all right” with any of this. 

But... he would be, once it was done. 

When his magical alarm system alerted him, a few days later, that Gabriel was on Earth again, Aziraphale made a point of seeking Crowley out, where he was napping in their bed, waking him gently, just enough to let him know he was going. 

Crowley blinked up at him, sleepy but troubled. “Angel, be careful…”

“I will, darling,” Aziraphale promised, kissing him softly and tucking the blankets back around him before heading for the door. “I’ll be back soon.” 

When Aziraphale glanced back, the expression on Crowley’s face told him that the demon was unlikely to get back to sleep until he returned. 

_ It’s all right, _ Aziraphale reassured himself. 

Once Aziraphale sought out Gabriel, and received the closure that he needed, Crowley would see: everything  _ would _ be all right. Once he saw for  _ himself  _ that Gabriel was no longer a threat to them, that they were truly safe and would be left alone, the desire Aziraphale felt for payback would be sated. He’d be able to forget the dark, all-consuming fantasies that filled his thoughts, and get past it, and he and Crowley would be able to  _ move on _ . 

Aziraphale was fairly certain he knew where to find Gabriel. He made his way across town until he reached a shop that sold luxury men’s clothing. It wasn’t the sort of place he’d ever have had occasion to go himself, as he’d owned the same well-worn, favorite items of clothing for centuries now, and had no interest in whatever was the most expensive, most sought after fashion of the time. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, sniffing in contempt as he eyed the racks laden with shirts and suits and ties in garish, obnoxious patterns meant to catch the eye and telegraph the importance of the wearer. 

_ Look at me!  _ they seemed to shout.  _ I’m worthy of  _ all  _ the attention!  _

_ Of course _ , this was  _ just _ the sort of place that could draw the archangel Gabriel from the safety of Heaven. 

He saw Gabriel as soon as he entered the shop - but Gabriel did not see him. Gabriel was focused on a suit on display - charcoal grey, luxuriously soft under his fingertips, Aziraphale presumed from the soft little smile that graced the archangel’s lips as he touched it. He ducked behind a different display, out of sight, as Gabriel glanced around the shop for a moment, and then lifted a finger to draw the attention of a sales clerk, hovering in a holding pattern a polite distance away. 

Aziraphale watched, eyes narrowed, as Gabriel asked questions of the clerk, and the young man eagerly assisted him, nodding and smiling and pointing out certain details that Gabriel might have missed. 

A seething resentment rose up within Aziraphale, a burning in his chest, as he thought of all the times Gabriel had shown up when he was enjoying a nice meal, or a glass of fine wine, seemingly for no other purpose than to express his disgust at Aziraphale’s enjoyment for human things, and warn him against “sullying his celestial temple”. 

Gabriel could have taken a single look at the suit in the display, snapped his fingers, and instantly have been wearing an exact copy of it, down to every last detail. There was no need for a shopping excursion - no need to seek out the assistance of the fawning, attentive clerk who was well trained to make each shopper feel special and important. No need to take the actual suit in hand and make his way to a dressing room to  _ try it on. _

It wasn’t as if Aziraphale didn’t  _ understand _ . In fact, for the first time in as long as he’d known Gabriel, which was quite literally  _ forever _ , Aziraphale felt that he could  _ relate _ to him. Gabriel went through this process of shopping, this elaborate  _ human _ ritual, for the same purpose that Aziraphale did not simply snap his fingers in the comfortable privacy of his own shop, and magically, instantly provide himself with an exact replica of his favorite sushi rolls from his favorite restaurant. 

But… this understanding of why Gabriel did it, did not make it better. 

It made  _ Gabriel _ a supreme  _ hypocrite _ . 

Rife with his own little human vices… he still had chosen, time and again, to torment Aziraphale about his. 

Aziraphale stood there a moment after Gabriel had disappeared into the dressing room with the suit and several complementary shirt options. He unclenched his fist with an effort, drawing in a long, shaky breath in an attempt to steady himself - to calm his own rising  _ outrage _ . 

Then, once he finally felt ready… Aziraphale snapped his fingers and miraculously transported himself into the dressing room Gabriel had chosen.

****************************************************************************

Gabriel frowned critically into the mirror, turning to the side a bit to better examine the fit of the suit pants, all that he was wearing at the moment. They were a nearly perfect fit, perhaps just a  _ fraction _ too tight. Once he was wearing the accompanying shirt and jacket that hung on the hook next to the mirror, the slight imperfection would not even be noticeable. 

But…  _ Gabriel _ would know. 

He let out a disapproving little sigh, debating whether to ask for the next size up, which would almost certainly be too large, or to simply perform a  _ slight _ miracle to adjust the fit to his size. He’d had a favorite tailor he might have consulted, here in London, more than a century ago, but humans had the unfortunate habit of not living that long. He thought back with a certain wistfulness to the time in Earth’s history when nearly  _ all _ clothing was tailor-made. 

All at once, in the blank space in the mirror where only the dressing room wall had been behind him - was  _ Aziraphale _ . 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched. He spun around to face the intruding principality - or  _ whatever _ the Hell Aziraphale was, now - his heart hammering in his chest. 

“What…” he choked out, hoarse and far too startled for his own liking. “What are you…?”   
  


“Oh, don’t mind me,” Aziraphale said with a smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just carry on with… whatever it is you’re doing.” His nose wrinkled with clear distaste, as he raised a dubious brow, giving Gabriel a slow,  _ obviously _ judgmental up and down look. 

“Shopping,” Gabriel answered, feeling rather stupid for the unnecessary response to a question Aziraphale hadn’t actually asked. His voice sounded small and unfamiliar to his own ears. Acutely self-conscious, Gabriel took down the shirt and held it to his bare chest - the wrinkles he was no doubt folding into it the  _ least _ of his concerns at the moment. 

“ _ Shopping _ ,” Aziraphale echoed with a smirk. “How very…  _ human _ , of you.” 

He took a step closer to Gabriel, who instinctively took the step’s worth of space back. Unfortunately, the dressing room was rather small and the single step brought his back into contact with the cool glass of the mirror. He shivered, holding the shirt a little tighter against his body, eyes instinctively shifting away from Aziraphale, darting desperately toward the door for just an instant, and then finally settling on the floor instead. 

“Why?” Aziraphale demanded, quiet and curious. “You don’t  _ need _ to.” 

As he spoke, he snapped his fingers, and Gabriel flinched, remembering the heat of hellfire on Aziraphale’s fingertips as he’d touched his face, as he’d grasped his throat and held him against the wall of the elevator. But Aziraphale didn’t hurt him. He just instantaneously moved the jacket from the hook beside him, the shirt from his hands, onto a different hook - behind Aziraphale and well out of Gabriel’s reach. 

With nothing left to hide behind, Gabriel wrapped his arms automatically around his torso, feeling unbearably cold and exposed. Aziraphale took another step closer, leaving very little space between them, smiling up into Gabriel’s eyes, his voice softly warning. 

“Are you going to answer me?” 

“I don’t know,” Gabriel admitted miserably. “I just…  _ like _ it.” 

“But you’re an  _ archangel _ ,” Aziraphale pointed out, a little frown of mock confusion belied by the cold mirth in his eyes. “You’re  _ above _ such human frivolities, are you not?” 

Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, he knew Aziraphale would  _ expect _ an answer… but he couldn’t begin to formulate one. 

“You like it,” Aziraphale continued, a sharp, knowing edge creeping into his words, “Because you like how it makes you feel about yourself. These fancy things, the…  _ image _ they project. That you’re someone  _ powerful  _ and  _ important _ … with  _ impeccable _ style.” He fairly spat out the words with contempt, an angry, accusing light in his eyes. “You mock and berate me for taking pleasure in the flavors of food and wine - while you indulge your own appetite for vanity.” 

“No, it’s… it’s not…” Gabriel argued, but his voice was weak, and he didn’t know the conclusion of his own argument. Didn’t have an explanation for why it was different, or why he felt the cold, creeping heat of shame crawling its way up his neck, churning in his stomach.

Maybe it  _ wasn’t  _ different. Maybe he’d been wrong about Aziraphale all this time. 

It seemed he’d been wrong about a _ lot  _ of things. 

“The most expensive fabrics and styles and  _ names _ …” Aziraphale continued as if Gabriel hadn’t spoken at all. “... chosen for their price tags and the luxurious feel of them and the way they  _ accent your eyes _ …” he sneered, gesturing with disgust toward the lavender shirt hanging behind him, before turning back toward Gabriel. He looked him up and down again, slowly, his lip curling with obvious derision. “Or  _ other  _ things.” 

The pants that had seemed just slightly too tight moments earlier, now seemed to expose everything. Gabriel instinctively lowered a hand to cover the front of them, feeling his face flush with humiliation. Aziraphale glared at him, shaking his head a little in silent refusal of Gabriel’s desire to hide. Gabriel knew with a sinking heart that he would not be allowed to - even before Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and all at once, the pants were out of his reach too, hanging on the hook behind Aziraphale with the other useless clothing. 

Gabriel could only stand there, helpless, fully exposed, as Aziraphale took another step closer. 

“Your very  _ corporation itself  _ is a demonstration of your vanity, though, isn’t it?” Aziraphale pointed out, smirking down at Gabriel’s trembling hand, still trying to cover himself as much as he could. “Choosing those  _ specific… proportions _ , as if that’s what an  _ average _ human looks like. It isn’t. And you know it. But you’re an  _ archangel _ . Must look as impressive and intimidating as possible at all times, yes?”

Gabriel eyed the clothes behind Aziraphale longingly. He lifted his free hand automatically, just a little - instinct telling him to simply snap his fingers and render himself fully dressed again - but he found himself hesitating, letting it fall back down against the mirror again. 

_ What if that makes him angry?  _ he wondered, his heart racing with something bordering on panic.  _ What would he do?  _

Aziraphale glanced at Gabriel’s hand, and then let out a harsh laugh, viciously amused. “ _ Really _ ?” he taunted, a low warning in his tone. “You’re going to use miracles to…  _ argue _ with me?” 

Gabriel flinched, shaking his head.

“Please, by all means, go ahead,” Aziraphale took a step back, with a little flourish of his hand, eyes narrowed with menacing expectation. “I can’t  _ wait _ to show you my counterpoint.” 

Gabriel felt sick. He remembered how easily Aziraphale had manipulated hellfire in the elevator, how he’d used it against him, used it to manipulate  _ him _ into whatever position he chose - and wondered what else Aziraphale might be capable of doing. He shook his head again, pleading. 

“N-no, no, I-I wasn’t going to…”

“ _ Liar _ ,” Aziraphale declared. “Nothing but a vain, prideful liar.” The truth of the accusation was a weight on Gabriel, overwhelming him with shame and forcing him to  _ fight _ the impulse to fall to his knees, to beg forgiveness, because it  _ was _ a lie, and he  _ was _ a vainglorious fraud. Aziraphale’s tone was a scathing condemnation. “Tell me, Gabriel. In what ways do your expensive dress and  _ obscene _ corporeal choices... bring glory to  _ God _ ?” 

They didn’t. 

Clearly, they didn’t. 

Somehow, somewhere, he’d become hopelessly lost, or this wouldn’t have been happening to him.  _ Aziraphale _ of all of Her creation wouldn’t be able to  _ command hellfire _ , and overpower archangels, and recite with all the power and conviction of a prophet this detailed list of Gabriel’s failings - unless he was in Her plan, Her will, Her favor. 

And  _ Gabriel _ … was  _ not _ . 

“Please,” Gabriel choked out, the word soft and broken. He felt the hot prickling of tears in his eyes, and closed them, stricken and ashamed. “ _ Please _ …” 

“They  _ don’t  _ glorify Her,” Aziraphale declared. “They fuel your pride and bring glory to you, and no one else. But it’s all just…  _ window dressing _ , isn’t it?” 

He caught Gabriel’s hand by the wrist, and Gabriel didn’t dare resist as Aziraphale drew it away from the shameful flesh it was covering and pressed it back against the mirror behind him - leaving his sin more fully exposed. A couple of tears made it past Gabriel’s closed eyes, and he swallowed back a choked, broken sound that rose in his throat. 

“ _ Look at me _ , Gabriel,” Aziraphale demanded, softly vicious. 

Gabriel winced, utterly unwilling - but obediently opened his eyes, reluctantly meeting Aziraphale’s cold blue gaze. 

The principality’s voice was quiet, knowing. “Are you feeling  _ powerful _ and  _ important... now _ ?”

Gabriel had never felt more powerless and ashamed. 

He shook his head, lowering his eyes, dejected. “No,” he whispered. “Aziraphale - I’m sorry. Please, just… I’m  _ sorry _ , all right? I didn’t come here to bother you or Crowley, I promise. I just come here for the clothes, but… I don’t have to. I can stop. I don’t have to come anywhere near London, ever again.” His mind raced, frantically trying to come up with a solution that would satisfy Aziraphale. “I can go to… Italy, maybe. Somewhere else. Or - I don’t have to come to Earth at all, I can just… stay in Heaven.” He glanced up again, then away in shame at the almost sympathetic amusement on Aziraphale’s face. “I’ll stay away,” he promised, quietly desperate. “I swear, Aziraphale.  _ Please _ .” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, considering. When at last he broke the silence, his words were slow and thoughtful, carefully measured. 

“I’m… not sure that’s necessary.” 

Gabriel was still and silent, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Aziraphale to elaborate. 

“You come here every week or so, usually, yes?” 

Gabriel nodded, feeling a little sick.

“Yes, that’s what I thought…”

“I-I don’t have to…” Gabriel shook his head, pleading. “I won’t-”

“Do not interrupt me again.” Aziraphale’s voice was deceptively soft, the barest trace of a warning behind the words. 

It was more than enough. Gabriel flinched, shaking his head, biting his lip to stifle more useless words. 

“You will  _ continue _ your usual visits to Earth,” Aziraphale declared softly. “And you’ll report to me when you do. I’d like to have regular assurances that Heaven hasn’t changed their minds… isn’t formulating some sort of plot against us...” He shifted in closer, releasing Gabriel’s wrist, but moving so near that there was no longer any space between them. The clothing Aziraphale wore brushed against Gabriel’s bare skin, and he shivered. 

Aziraphale noticed, and smiled. 

“... as well as that you are…  _ behaving _ yourself.” His gaze locked onto Gabriel’s wide, fearful eyes, and his smile faded into something darker, his soft, calm words laced with subtle menace. “Let me make it quite clear, Gabriel. If you  _ don’t _ show up here within the next week as you usually do, well, I’ll have to assume that you’re  _ deliberately _ avoiding me. And I’ll have to assume there’s a  _ reason _ why you’re avoiding me. And I’ll have to come and  _ find you myself _ . Do you want that, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel very much did  _ not _ want that. He opened his mouth to respond - and then remembered how angry Aziraphale had become the last time he’d spoken, and hesitated. 

Aziraphale smiled again - soft, indulgent. “You may answer.” 

“No,” Gabriel replied, his own voice sounding unbearably small and subdued. “I’ll be here. There.” He frowned, confused. “ _ Where _ … do you want me?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes were lit with amusement, a sympathetic smile on his lips, as he seemed to consider the question, and then come to a decision. “Make your usual stops,” he instructed. “And then add one. To my bookshop.” 

“Should I… let you know when I’m on my way?” Gabriel offered, his mind racing, desperately trying to think of a way out. “I mean… in case you’re too busy, and don’t  _ want  _ me to stop every time…”

“No need. I’ll know,” Aziraphale said with quiet certainty, a knowing look in his eyes as they met Gabriel’s over a cool smile. “And I will most  _ definitely _ want you to stop.”

Gabriel stared at him in horror, his mind momentarily refusing to process  _ that _ disturbing information. He couldn’t begin to fathom how Aziraphale could just…  _ know _ that he was on Earth, that he was coming to the bookshop. 

But he believed it. Somehow - Aziraphale  _ would know _ . 

He felt horribly trapped, a cold fist of panic clenching in his chest. 

The  _ very last thing _ he wanted was to see Aziraphale again the following week. 

“Heaven won’t be plotting against you, not now or ever,” Gabriel insisted, unable to keep the desperate, pleading note from his voice. “Aziraphale, I swear, I - I won’t try to do  _ anything _ to you, I’ll just leave you alone…” 

“I believe I’ve just made it clear.” Aziraphale cut him off, softly but with a finality that silenced the rest of Gabriel’s protests. “That is  _ not  _ what I want from you.” 

Gabriel swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his words a hoarse, dread-filled whisper. “What… what  _ do _ you want… from me?” 

Aziraphale gave him another slow, leisurely look, his eyes lingering a moment too long over Gabriel’s exposed body, before he gave him a nasty, suggestive smile. 

“I’ll let you know,” he promised, then raised a hand to snap his fingers, and vanished from the dressing room. 

Gabriel collapsed to his knees, gasping, the panic he’d been fighting to restrain clawing its way up his throat and overwhelming him the instant the threat was gone. It took him a moment to realize that the clothing that had been hanging behind Aziraphale now covered him - a flawless fit that utterly failed to make him feel any less exposed or vulnerable. 

Especially when he noticed a tiny detail on the shirt that had not been there before - an intricate golden flame embroidered into the soft lavender fabric, directly over Gabriel’s heart. 

Aziraphale had given back what he had taken, along with a clear warning. 

And Gabriel had  _ no idea _ what Aziraphale intended to take from him next. 

*************************************************************************************************

Aziraphale’s heart was racing as he left the shop, a little with alarm at his own rather shocking behavior - but mostly with  _ exhilaration _ at the rush of the power Crowley had clearly established over the archangel. Aziraphale smiled a little, his hand falling to rest over the pocket of his coat where he’d stowed his gift from Crowley. 

He hadn’t even needed to  _ touch _ it. 

Gabriel was sufficiently terrified of him that Aziraphale was  _ sure _ , now: he wouldn’t be a problem. He would leave them alone. If Gabriel had his own way, now, Aziraphale felt certain that he’d simply hide away from them in Heaven indefinitely, and if required to return to Earth on occasion, go out of his way to avoid Aziraphale completely. But while that should have been a comforting thought, Aziraphale realized that it just sounded -  _ disappointing _ . 

Aziraphale was abruptly quite certain of something else, now - something completely unexpected. 

He didn’t  _ want _ Gabriel to simply disappear. 

And he wasn’t going to  _ let _ him disappear. 

_ Too easy. After all he’s done… all the shame and humiliation he’s inflicted, not just on me but on  _ all  _ his angelic subordinates… _

Aziraphale shook his head firmly, his mouth pressed into a taut line as he strode toward home with swift, purposeful steps, his mind racing ahead of him, into the following week, and his next meeting with Gabriel… making plans. 

_ He doesn’t  _ deserve  _ to get off so easily. And he’s not going to.  _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to the wonderful Dacelin, Latromi, and boughofawillowtree for their brainstorming and feedback and beta work <3 
> 
> Lovely friends such as y'all make working on this story (which I'll admit has had me a bit anxious to post) SUCH a pleasure!! :) 
> 
> *hugs*

“There he was, just  _ staring _ at himself.” Aziraphale felt his anger become heated again as he recounted the story to Crowley, curled up next to him on the sofa in the flat above the bookshop. “ _ Worshipping _ his own image in the mirror like some kind of idol, and last I checked, idolatry is still among the greatest of sins, is it not?” 

Crowley shrugged, vaguely dismissive. “Not my area of expertise, exactly.” 

“Vain as a peacock,” Aziraphale continued, disgusted at the memory. “Hardly even noticed my arrival. But… he _did_ notice, then. I made quite certain to make a… lasting impression.” He smiled a little, then shook his head, smile fading. “How he could berate _me_ repeatedly for enjoying a good meal now and then, while indulging in _ridiculous_ extravagance when it comes to his own wardrobe - he goes to that little shop nearly every week, did you know that? It’s been there for nearly a century, but over the past… even just the past _twenty years_ , that’s a _thousand_ _suits_ , and shirts and ties and what have you. Where does he even _keep_ it all?” 

Crowley chuckled, running a soothing hand through Aziraphale’s hair, but Aziraphale could hear the somewhat tight, uneasy note behind his laughter, and realized uncomfortably that he had been going on about Gabriel and their most recent encounter for quite some time now. 

Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh, lowering his head onto Crowley’s shoulder and making an effort to relax. He didn’t want to allow Gabriel to spoil his time with Crowley. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself, smiling again, focusing his memory on the satisfaction of putting Gabriel in his place, rather than on his lingering anger. 

“At any rate… he wasn’t _nearly_ so prideful by the time I left him.” He was quiet for a moment, allowing his thoughts to drift back to the incident. “It was really… far easier than I expected, actually. All those millennia I was so very intimidated _by_ him… I would never have thought that _he’d_ be intimidated so easily.” 

“Neither would he, I expect,” Crowley mused, a note of dark amusement in his voice. “Makes sense, though.” 

“Does it?” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, frowning with confusion. “How do you mean?” 

Crowley drew in a deep breath. “Well, it’s like this,” he explained, a slightly guarded note to his cautious words. “In Hell, there’s always someone bigger and tougher you’ve got to look out for… someone who wants to back you into a corner. Make you break. Make you cry. Prove they’re the biggest and the baddest, yeah? And the trick - the trick to it is… making it look like you don’t care. Aren’t scared. Whatever they’re doing doesn’t get to you. You’ve been backed into scarier corners by bigger and badder than them. Try all you like, all they’re gonna get from you is  _ bored _ . You follow?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. He did, though he found it difficult to see the connection. 

Crowley was quiet for a long moment. “Who do you suppose has ever backed the  _ Archangel Fucking Gabriel _ into a corner?” 

Aziraphale considered the question, and slowly, understanding began to dawn. 

“Thing about being on the top all your many millennia of existence is that… in the unlikely event that someone more powerful than you  _ does _ come along… you’ve got no frame of reference for how to  _ cope _ with that. Don’t know how to deal with all that adrenaline… that mind-numbing rush of panic… if you’ve never felt it before.” 

Aziraphale took that in. It  _ did _ make sense, when Crowley explained it so clearly. 

“He’s probably been intimidated by exactly one person in his entire existence,” Crowley pointed out after a quiet moment. “And there’s only  _ one thing _ you do when  _ She’s _ exerting Her authority. Well, two things,” he amended with a little grimace. “You Fall to Hell, or…”

“To your knees. You submit,” Aziraphale concluded, as clarity came with a strange, enticing feeling of intrigue, of…  _ possibility _ . “It all makes sense now.”

They were both quiet for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts.

“Did you get what you needed from the experience, angel?” Crowley asked at last, his tone softer, gentle and concerned. 

“ _ Yes _ .” Aziraphale looked up into Crowley’s eyes with a warm smile. “I had the opportunity to say things to Gabriel that I’ve wanted to express for  _ centuries _ , and I do feel much better now.” He stretched up just a little, just enough to press a light kiss against Crowley’s jawline. “Thanks to  _ you _ ,” he added softly. 

A rosy blush colored Crowley’s face, and he ducked his head a little with a smile that was oddly shy, but pleased. “Just glad you’ll be able to move on now,” he replied, the words low and a little husky. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed quietly, looking away. 

He settled his head down against Crowley’s chest, and tried to pretend that it wasn’t, at least a little bit, to hide his eyes from the demon’s all too perceptive gaze. He’d conveniently left out certain details about the incident. Like the fact that he’d taken away every shred of Gabriel’s clothing, and crowded in so close to him that they were nearly touching. 

Crowley would probably find that... objectionable.

Though, perhaps not quite as objectionable as the fact that Aziraphale  _ couldn’t stop thinking _ about that moment - about other things he might have done, other ways in which he might have intensified Gabriel’s shame and fear and brought him  _ just a little _ lower… and the opportunity he would have in less than a week, now, to bring a few of those dark, enticing little details into reality. 

He’d left  _ that  _ particular detail out of his story, too. 

Crowley had no idea that Aziraphale was planning to see Gabriel  _ again _ . 

He still wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it - made arrangements for Gabriel to meet him at the bookshop. He should have simply let it go and taken satisfaction in the victory of that single encounter, then moved on gracefully, knowing he’d left an impression that Gabriel wouldn’t soon forget. 

But something about Gabriel’s submission… seeing the archangel’s maddening arrogance shattered to pieces before him, then trampled into oblivion by Aziraphale’s own sharp-edged, scathing words, words that he’d practiced silently with a trembling, frustrated rage that had built over  _ centuries _ … 

Watching Gabriel  _ break _ . 

It was…  _ intoxicating _ . 

But far from satisfying. In fact, rather than being sated by the encounter, Aziraphale’s fantasies had been fanned to hotter intensity. And now, he found himself pondering Crowley’s insights into Gabriel’s responses and reactions during that encounter… and very much looking forward to the next one… mentally rehearsing what he might say to Gabriel when next they met. 

What he might  _ do _ to him… if the archangel gave him an even marginally adequate excuse. 

The only problem was, well…  _ Crowley _ . 

If it wasn’t for Crowley, Aziraphale wouldn’t have had the opportunity to recompense Gabriel’s verbal abuse and degradation over the past millennia  _ at all _ . Crowley understood why Aziraphale had needed it; he’d been the first to instigate it, after all, hadn’t he? Taking his own vindictive pleasure in humiliating and terrifying Gabriel in the elevator down from Heaven? He’d openly admitted the details of the encounter to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure why he couldn’t offer the same transparency to Crowley in return. 

He just knew that it was…  _ different _ , somehow. Crowley’s one-time impulse to put the archangel in his place, and Aziraphale’s carefully laid plans, fueled by vengeful fantasy and crafted with ever-increasingly meticulous design, were  _ not _ the same. Crowley would not understand. Crowley would disapprove. 

Crowley would be…  _ concerned _ . 

Aziraphale couldn’t keep it from him, not indefinitely. That simply was not the way their relationship  _ worked _ . He was going to tell him everything. Of course he was. He just needed to figure out  _ how,  _ at some point before Gabriel returned - a task which might have been a bit easier, had Aziraphale been able to focus his thoughts on his explanation, rather than his plans.

As it turned out… he was granted an unexpected reprieve. 

The magical alarm he’d set was subtle and quiet - nothing noticeable to anyone outside of Aziraphale’s own mind. Just a sudden, certain knowledge - Gabriel was on Earth again. Most likely in his favorite shop,  _ again _ , the shallow, insufferable muppet. 

At the moment when Aziraphale  _ knew _ , he and Crowley were preparing to leave for Tadfield for the afternoon. Anathema had contacted them a few days prior, reaching out because she’d come into possession of a set of books which she suspected to be of demonic origin.

“I could really use your expert eye,” she’d said. 

“Mine or his?” Crowley had asked with a raised eyebrow, holding his cell phone up between Aziraphale and himself, on speaker. 

Anathema had been silent for a moment, seemingly taken aback by the question before she’d realized, “Well…  _ both _ , actually. Both would be good.” 

But it was Crowley’s number that she’d called. Aziraphale reckoned he was unlikely to be missed all that much. 

By Anathema, anyway. 

“Oh, come on, angel. You’re not going to make me go on my own, are you?” Crowley was all but  _ pouting _ , a petulant frown on his lips. 

“You’re more than capable,” Aziraphale pointed out. “It might be fun.” 

“Not likely,” Crowley huffed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t even  _ know _ her all that well…” 

“Nonsense, you know Anathema as well as I do.” 

“Which is more or less  _ not at all _ ,” Crowley insisted. “We all stopped the Apocalypse together, yeah, but… there’s only so much mileage you can get out of that before the staring and the awkward silence starts…” 

“You’re going there to discuss the books. And if that fails, there’s always… the weather, and what she’s been up to, and…”

“Old books and small talk. Thrilling.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “If you’re  _ you _ .” Any mild sting that might have accompanied the little jibe was soothed away when Crowley took both of Aziraphale’s hands in his and pleaded sincerely, “Come  _ with  _ me, angel, you make  _ anything _ more fun!” 

“I’m sorry, dear, but I’m afraid I really don’t feel up to it,” Aziraphale insisted, doing his best to ease the sting of his rejection, in turn, by moving in close to Crowley, lifting a hand to stroke through his hair, and kissing his cheek. “You know I’d love to spend the afternoon with you, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling particularly sociable today… and it  _ has _ been quite a while since I’ve had an afternoon to myself in the shop, and there’s  _ ever _ so much to do.”

“How?” Crowley demanded, pulling away and crossing his arms, petulant. “You haven’t had a customer since the world didn’t end!”

“I could… do a bit of quiet reading…” 

“You do a bit of quiet reading  _ all the time _ .” Crowley glared… then whined. “ _ Please _ , angel, come on. It’s just a few hours…”

“Precisely,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Which is why you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not an expert on old, rare books…”

“No, you’re an  _ actual demon _ ,” Aziraphale countered with amusement. “Who better to identify for our dear Anathema whether or not her books are  _ demonic _ ?” When Crowley didn’t immediately respond, Aziraphale pointed out quietly, “It was your mobile she called, wasn’t it? I’m fairly certain it’s your help she wanted, she was just being…  _ polite _ .” 

Crowley’s expression made it clear that he’d suspected as much himself, and had no strong counterpoint to present - but was still quite disappointed to lose this argument. He relented with a sigh, giving Aziraphale a somewhat reluctant kiss before heading out on his own. 

Aziraphale watched him go, feeling guilty for disappointing him and abandoning him. 

And lying to him. 

_ It wasn’t  _ truly _ a lie, though, was it? _ he reasoned.  _ Gabriel may not even show up, and if he doesn’t, I most definitely  _ will not…  _ track him down wherever he’s hiding and insist that he meet my demands. No, if he doesn’t come here as planned, I  _ will  _ spend the afternoon alone reading.  _

_ Probably. _

He’d come clean to Crowley as soon as he arrived home that evening, Aziraphale decided. This convenient outing to Anathema’s had simply bought him a little more time to figure out how. 

But for now… he waited for Gabriel. 

He left the apartment and went down to the shop to wait, but he didn’t choose a book to read. Instead, he went to the door of the shop’s backroom. It was a small, windowless room he rarely entered, which for decades had been piled high with old books he’d not been able to bring himself to discard, despite the lettering too faded and pages too dogeared to even be read anymore; with paperwork that hadn’t been needed in a century, and would never be needed again. There’d always been a desk in this room - but Aziraphale had long since been unable to find it beneath the stacks. 

He’d spent a considerable amount of time this past week cleaning it out, storing away the books and papers and organizing supplies into the drawers of the desk… clearing the room in order to make a space for… 

Well, he wasn’t exactly sure what the space was for, yet. 

That would depend entirely on Gabriel. 

**************************************************************************************

Gabriel was stalling for time. 

He asked the clerk to bring him his second choice, then tried it on, taking a few minutes to examine his reflection in the mirror again. Aziraphale hadn’t exactly given him a precise timeframe as to when he should arrive at the bookshop. He’d just said to come there when he was finished shopping. If this week’s shopping happened to take a little longer than usual, well - Aziraphale should have been more specific. Gabriel couldn’t be blamed for that, could he? 

He felt a little sick as he considered the question. 

The answer was, of course...  _ yes. _

Yes, Gabriel  _ could _ be blamed. Aziraphale was almost  _ certain _ to blame him. 

_ You could just… not go, _ whispered an enticing little voice in his head, not for the first time since the terrifying encounter he’d had with Aziraphale the previous week.  _ He doesn’t command you. He has no right to make such demands on your time, your presence. You could just… ignore him. Don’t go.  _

What would Aziraphale do, if Gabriel just ignored his orders and returned to Heaven? Would he follow him there? Who might get in the way, might get  _ hurt _ , before Aziraphale got to him? And if Aziraphale came looking for him, Aziraphale  _ would _ get to him; Gabriel had little doubt of that. Aziraphale had known exactly where to find him last time. Gabriel couldn’t imagine that Aziraphale would simply shrug it off if Gabriel didn’t show up. 

And perhaps the only thing worse than dealing with the terrifyingly powerful weird angel-demon hybrid...  _ thing _ that Aziraphale seemed to be now... would be dealing with the  _ supremely pissed off _ version. 

He shuddered, feeling a sick, cold flush of shame wash over him as he remembered their last encounter, in a room very similar to this one -  _ not _ the same exact room, as Gabriel had very pointedly avoided that particular dressing room this time. He remembered the overwhelming sense of panic, the humiliation of standing there, exposed and helpless, before Aziraphale. 

He imagined what it would feel like to experience that again - only in Heaven. 

With an  _ audience _ . 

_ No. _

_ I said I would, so I’ll go. I’ll talk to Aziraphale, so he’s satisfied. Make sure he has no reason to return to Heaven by reassuring him that Heaven’s still not coming after him.  _

_ Like they’d be that stupid.  _

_ Like he needs to worry, when he can shoot Hellfire at them at will.  _

Gabriel shivered, frowning a little as he focused his attention on the ensemble he was wearing. He snapped his fingers to alter the shade of his grey suit just a little, darkening it. A second snap for the shirt, changing it from pale lavender to deep purple - colors more solemn, more compelling of respect. 

_ I’ll show up, and give him an update, and do as he asked.  _

He accentuated the combination with a tie in complementary colors, and then considered for a moment, looking over the entire effect, before completing it with a silver lapel pin, in the shape of a sword. 

He was Heaven’s messenger, but he’d seen his days in battle. 

A more recent memory flashed across his mind - the blazing gold flame emblem Aziraphale had placed on his shirt - just under where the tiny silver sword now lay. Gabriel shook his head a little, closing his eyes for a moment and shutting out the thought. He squared his shoulders and drew in a deep breath, schooling his expression into firm resolve. 

He would go to see Aziraphale. Just one last time.

_ And when I see him, I’ll make it very clear: this  _ won’t _ happen again.  _

***************************************************************************

Gabriel arrived at the bookshop suddenly, not via the front door, but simply appearing out of nowhere just inside it, and less than six feet from where Aziraphale stood. Thankfully, Aziraphale managed not to jump or appear visibly startled, though his heart lurched a bit at the unexpected intrusion. 

He supposed Gabriel thought it appropriate payback. 

“Next time, I’d ask you to kindly  _ knock _ .” 

He glared at the archangel, his tone severe and warning, and felt a sense of vindictive satisfaction when Gabriel averted his gaze, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat. Gabriel was quiet for a moment before responding, his words low and carefully even. 

“There won’t be a next time.” 

Aziraphale studied him for a long moment, taking in every detail. Despite the mockery it’d earned him at their last meeting, Gabriel was once again dressed impeccably, and perhaps even  _ more  _ impressively. He was dressed to portray a confidence he didn’t actually possess, Aziraphale surmised, suppressing a smile at the realization. The way Gabriel stood just inside the door - as close as he could get to  _ not _ being there, while still  _ actually _ being there - the empty fist clenched at his side, the tension in his shoulders, his averted gaze and carefully neutral expression…

He was scared to death, and  _ desperate _ not to show it. 

Aziraphale allowed himself a slow, calculated smile, taking a measured step nearer. 

“Is that so.” 

Gabriel did not retreat - he’d foolishly left himself none. But he watched Aziraphale’s advance with wary, darting eyes. 

“You wanted an update,” he reminded Aziraphale, his voice lower than usual… presumably in a vain attempt to hide the faint tremor in his words. “I’m here to give you one. Heaven has no interest in you at this point, or in your pet demon. There’s been no discussion of any further pursuit of - of trial, or punishment, or anything relating to either of you at all. You’ve quite clearly severed your connection with Heaven - and we’re happy to leave it that way. If you’re worried about some sort of future attack or - or move against you - that won’t be happening. And…” He paused, drawing in a shaky breath, before waving a hand in a vague gesture between them and concluding with paper-thin assertion, “Neither will…  _ this _ .” 

Aziraphale was quiet, allowing Gabriel’s obvious anxiety to amplify, allowing the tension of the moment to stretch between them, before snapping his fingers - and causing the bookshop’s front door to lock with a dramatically audible  _ click _ . He met Gabriel’s wide, alarmed stare with a bright smile. 

“I disagree.” 

Gabriel’s eyes darted down to the doorknob, and he swallowed hard. “You can’t force me to stay,” he insisted with stubborn desperation. “I could unlock that door as easily as you locked it.” 

Aziraphale had to give him credit. His voice was low and  _ almost  _ steady, and he  _ very nearly _ managed not to visibly tense as Aziraphale slowly closed in. 

Also… he was  _ right _ . 

Right then, Aziraphale felt a moment’s trepidation. Gabriel’s words were true; he could walk out of the bookshop any time he chose - and perhaps, Aziraphale should let him. He wasn’t quite certain of what he was doing here, at all, anyway; and the myriad dark possibilities he allowed to percolate in his mind at all hours of every day, well - they hardly bore thinking about, really.  _ Let alone _ putting into action. 

Really, it was best if he just allowed Gabriel to walk away. 

_ But… he’d be back, _ a tiny dark voice in the back of his mind pointed out.  _ He’d leave this place… and he’d think about what happened here… and what _ didn’t  _ happen here… and he’d wonder why you let him go… and he’d begin to put the pieces together. He can be appallingly oblivious at times, but… he isn’t stupid. He’d figure it out, and he’d come back. _

_ And he wouldn’t be alone.  _

Gabriel  _ could _ unlock that door and walk away. And he could unlock it again if he decided to return with the host of Heaven at his back. Aziraphale would not have Hellfire at his command, and Crowley’s abilities would be poor defense against the armies of the Almighty. 

Aziraphale decided suddenly and with complete clarity - he  _ could not _ allow that to happen. 

Gabriel was right… but Aziraphale had  _ no choice _ , in this moment, but to prove him wrong. 

“First of all,” he began. “ _ Could _ you? Really? Are you quite certain?” His sympathetic expression shifted into an expectant smile as his gaze met Gabriel’s on the doorknob, then followed it back up to his trapped, fearful eyes. His tone was soft, hushed with secretive anticipation. “ _ I’m _ quite certain I’d  _ love _ to see you try it.” 

Gabriel closed his eyes, shaking his head just a little, so nearly imperceptibly that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he realized he was doing it at all. 

“And secondly,” he went on, reducing the space between them by another slow, measured step. “Would you really  _ want  _ to?” 

Gabriel opened his eyes then with a frown of confusion, but remained silent, waiting. 

Aziraphale was happy to explain. 

“Assuming for the sake of argument that you  _ could _ use a miracle of your own to undo  _ my _ miracle and unlock that door…” The soft little huff of laughter that punctuated the words implied that the very suggestion was ludicrous. “I could as easily follow you out of it once it was opened, yes? Anywhere else you might choose to go on Earth.” He paused, allowing his smile to fade into something dark and menacing. “Or back up to Heaven. Where I assure you, Gabriel… there is  _ no one _ who could successfully stand in my way. But then… I do believe you already know that.” 

Gabriel’s lips parted as if to protest, but he remained silent. 

He looked as if he was going to be sick - an impressive feat considering that his corporation’s digestive system had most likely never ingested anything it could possibly reject. 

“So instead, let’s consider the much more likely outcome in which your attempt to unlock that door would undoubtedly fail,” Aziraphale continued, moving in yet closer, only a scant couple of feet separating the two of them now. “The other archangels would likely sense that you were in trouble. That you’d attempted a miracle, with some…  _ desperation, _ ” he laughed - a low, mean sound that made Gabriel flinch a little, eyes downcast with shame, “here in  _ my shop _ . In which case, it’s possible they’d make some attempt to defend you. To  _ subdue me _ . Now, tell me, Gabriel…” He reached up a hand to brush a bit of imaginary lint from Gabriel’s tie, allowing his hand to rest just below the knot and tug slightly, smiling up into Gabriel’s eyes, wide and bright with panic and locked onto Aziraphale’s hand near his throat. 

“... do you imagine their efforts would be…  _ successful _ ?” 

Gabriel shook his head, breathless and mute with terror. 

“No, I’m afraid not,” Aziraphale agreed, his tone regretful. “They’d most likely be very badly hurt in trying to protect you. Or… worse,” he continued, tilting his head a little with a thoughtful frown, pausing for effect before going on, soft and sad. “They  _ wouldn’t _ . Wouldn’t even  _ try _ to stand in my way. Wouldn’t show up at all. Would simply…” He lifted careful fingers to brush through Gabriel’s hair, smiling when he flinched hard enough to knock his head into the door behind him. “... _ leave _ you to me. And to my  _ anger  _ at your defiance.” 

Gabriel shook his head, turned against the wall as far as he could in a vain attempt to evade Aziraphale’s touch. “Please,” he choked out, hushed and hoarse. “Don’t.” 

“Did I say you could speak?” Aziraphale snapped. 

Gabriel winced, shaking his head again, silent. 

“But perhaps that’s exactly the point,” Aziraphale mused, softer. “Is that what you’ve come here to do, Gabriel? To defy me?” He touched Gabriel’s hair again, vindictively gratified when Gabriel tensed, but did not dare pull away this time. “To make me angry?” 

Gabriel shook his head, biting down to stifle whatever words rose to his lips. 

Perhaps a desperate apology. A plea, most likely. 

Aziraphale felt a deep stirring of mingled satisfaction, and  _ hunger _ . He knew what he  _ wanted _ to do next. He also knew that once he did it, it would not be able to be undone. There would be no turning back. 

He hesitated only moments before doing it anyway. 

He rested one hand lightly against Gabriel’s shoulder, and snapped his fingers with the other. Immediately, he and Gabriel were both transported into the quiet, dimly lit backroom, empty except for the desk - which was mostly empty as well, with the exception of a few very specific implements Aziraphale had carefully stored there earlier in the week. 

Gabriel stumbled slightly at the abrupt relocation, glancing around in confusion before giving Aziraphale a fearful, questioning look. 

Aziraphale’s hand was still on Gabriel’s shoulder, and he lightly squeezed it, holding the archangel’s eyes with a soft, reassuring smile. 

“On your knees,” he instructed quietly, with a single, expectant nod toward the floor. 

Gabriel stared at him, glanced at the floor, then back at Aziraphale, hesitant. 

Aziraphale allowed his smile to fade a little. 

With no further hesitation, Gabriel dropped to his knees, head bowed, his arms wrapped anxiously around his torso. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Aziraphale remarked, soft and encouraging. “That’s more like it. Much better. But…” He looked Gabriel over, frowning. “... something’s still… not  _ quite _ …” 

He placed two fingers under Gabriel’s chin, tilting his head back and examining him critically. Aziraphale took his time, as if considering - as if there was  _ any question _ about what he was going to do next - while Gabriel’s eyes remained tightly shut, his body tense and braced with dreadful anticipation, but he didn’t turn his head away or resist in any way.

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale concluded at last with clear disapproval, running the tips of his fingers across the shoulder of Gabriel’s pristine, perfectly tailored suit, down his lapel until they reached the shining silver sword lapel pin. “There’s the problem.” 

He snapped his fingers, unable to suppress his smile when Gabriel flinched, but all that happened was that the pin was no longer on Gabriel’s suit, but cupped in the open palm of Aziraphale’s hand. He studied it thoughtfully, his words slow and musing. 

“This…  _ armor _ of yours, that you’ve put on in preparation for this meeting. This…  _ pretense _ , that you might  _ actually _ be capable of overpowering me.” He laughed, soft and cold, and Gabriel shook his head, silently pleading. “We both know better. Don’t we?” 

“I do,” Gabriel conceded, soft and anxious, eyes downcast. “Aziraphale, I-I know… I wasn’t…” 

Aziraphale swiftly rounded on him, grasping his chin and jerking his head up, silencing him. “Is this yet  _ another  _ new suit, Gabriel?” he demanded, taunting and derisive. He laughed when Gabriel winced and nodded, the motion halting, hindered by Aziraphale’s painful grip. He lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “Was I supposed to find it  _ intimidating _ ? Was it supposed to  _ convince _ me to allow you to walk out of here, untouched?” 

“No,” Gabriel protested, then winced when Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “I-I mean,  _ yes _ . Yes, it is. New, but it wasn’t… I didn’t… I mean…”

He stopped talking abruptly, cringing when Aziraphale snapped his fingers near Gabriel’s face - and the offending new suit, and all its accompaniments, vanished into thin air. 

Aziraphale smiled. “There, yes. That’s better, isn’t it? Far more…  _ honest _ .” 

Gabriel was shivering, his arms wrapped around his bare stomach, one trembling hand hanging awkwardly between his legs in a useless, instinctive attempt to cover himself. 

“Aziraphale…  _ please _ ,” he tried again, visibly struggling to keep his voice steady… and not quite succeeding. He faltered a bit before managing to meet Aziraphale’s cold gaze again. His words were quiet and careful. “I… don’t know why you’re doing this. I haven’t…  _ done _ anything to you…”

“Oh, well, now you  _ are _ making me angry,” Aziraphale stated, calm and matter of fact despite the slow heat of rage beginning to burn in his chest. 

He remembered countless times, agonizing under the heat of humiliation a Gabriel had berated him publicly, heedless of their angelic brethren near enough to listen and smirk - or perhaps not heedless, exactly. Aziraphale was fairly certain Gabriel had often chosen the setting and audience for these lectures deliberately. 

He thought of the times when Gabriel had sought him out on Earth, for seemingly no other purpose than to question and mock and  _ judge _ Aziraphale’s habits… his  _ life _ . 

He thought of how very willing and eager Gabriel had been to  _ burn him alive _ , not so very long ago. 

_ Shut your stupid mouth, and die already… _

He glared down at Gabriel, who immediately, guiltily, averted his gaze. Aziraphale smiled, knowing and cold. 

Gabriel remembered, too. 

“You’ve done  _ nothing _ to me?” he echoed the archangel’s words, incredulous. “ _ Really _ ?” He let out a bitter, scoffing sound. “What a blatant, wicked  _ lie _ . And from the lips of an  _ archangel. _ ” 

Gabriel shook his head. “No, I-I didn’t mean…”

“I wouldn’t suggest opening your mouth again,” Aziraphale snarled, low and warning. 

Gabriel immediately went silent, eyes down - and Aziraphale realized slowly that they were focused on Aziraphale’s hand, low at his side. He looked idly down at it, blinking in surprise when he saw a tiny trickle of blood leaking out from the crevices of his tightly clenched fist. He opened it, to find the sword pin still there, its fine edges gleaming with bloody streaks where it had dug into his flesh. 

Aziraphale drew in a slow, steadying breath, closing his eyes and waving his hand over the injury, which instantly vanished, his skin whole and new again. He snapped his fingers then, and the tiny sword vanished - hidden away in the top right drawer of his desk. In its place he held the weapon that had been stored there. 

Crowley’s hellfire blade. 

Aziraphale spared a secretive smile for Gabriel, his eyes alight with anticipation. “Watch closely,” he instructed, calm, his anger once again reined in. 

He studied Gabriel for a moment. The archangel’s gaze was obediently locked onto the blade. Satisfied that he had Gabriel’s attention, Aziraphale held the handle of the blade with one hand, and waved the other over it with a dramatic little flourish. 

It was easy enough - a simple illusion.

Tiny sparks rose, and then bloomed into fire from Aziraphale’s fingertips, of the ordinary Earthly variety - not that Gabriel could tell the difference from this distance, unable to feel the heat of the flames as Aziraphale allowed them to flow over the blade, gliding along its edge. It was nothing more than a bit of a light show, really - the blade covered with an iridescent shimmer that surrounded it and skated over its surface for a few moments before fading away entirely, along with the fire in Aziraphale’s hand. 

When Aziraphale turned to face Gabriel, the archangel was still dutifully watching, a wary question in his eyes. 

“I’ve just imbued this blade with Hellfire,” Aziraphale lied easily as he closed in on Gabriel again, the blade in hand. He waited a moment, his eyes greedily drinking in the alarm that dawned in Gabriel’s eyes as he processed that information. He smiled. “Now,” he said softly. “Let’s…  _ discuss _ … all of the  _ nothing _ you’ve supposedly done to me.” 

Gabriel drew in a sharp breath, wide eyes locked onto the blade as Aziraphale brought it near to his face. He lifted a faltering, hesitant hand for a moment - then dropped it to his side again when Aziraphale caught his gaze, and raised a warning, dubious brow. 

“Were you going to lift your hand? To  _ me _ , Gabriel?” he asked, quietly menacing. He reached down and caught Gabriel’s wrist, jerking his arm up between them, uncomfortably near to the blade. His voice went terribly soft. “Would you like to lose it?” 

“N-no, I’m sorry,” Gabriel insisted with desperate urgency, though he made no attempt to pull away from Aziraphale’s loosely restraining grasp. “Aziraphale,  _ please _ …”

Aziraphale brought the edge of the blade up under Gabriel’s chin - close, but not quite touching - and Gabriel drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, his head tilting back to avoid contact with the blade, and yet, in the process, fully exposing his throat. 

“ _ Please _ ,” Gabriel blurted out all at once, panic in his desperate words. “Aziraphale, let me -  _ let me make it up to you _ .” 

Aziraphale froze. 

He’d heard Crowley’s story of what had happened in the elevator countless times; he well remembered what those words meant, in this context. What the implication was, of what Gabriel was willing to  _ do _ . He went very still, silent. There was a low stirring in his gut - an ugly, dark desire that he knew, without question, he should just  _ shove back down _ …

… but… Gabriel was still talking, his frantic desperation bordering on panic. 

“I know you said you… you didn’t want me to, not… not that time, but… but  _ this _ time, if you want me to, Aziraphale… please, let me make it up to you. I know I fucked up, okay? I know I’ve treated you like shit, and I’m sorry. I’m  _ sorry _ .” 

Aziraphale stared down at him coldly, keeping his expression as level and controlled as possible, hoping that it didn’t show on his face, in his eyes, the effect that Gabriel’s words were having on him. The things that those wide, violet eyes staring up at him, terrified and pleading and shining with unshed tears…  _ did _ to him. 

“Let me show you,” Gabriel pleaded, quiet and tremulous. “Let me  _ show you _ that I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale’s mouth twitched at the corner as he tried to suppress the overwhelming, confusing feelings swelling up and washing over him - satisfaction, and anger, and  _ desire _ . 

“You don’t know how,” he reminded Gabriel, with a note of subtle mockery, a single brow raised. 

“Teach me,” Gabriel whispered with a slow swallow. “Just… tell me what to do. What you want. I’ll - I’ll do as you say.”

It was one of the darkest, most secret alternative outcomes he’d imagined to Crowley’s story, again and again - come to life on its knees before him and  _ begging  _ to be birthed into reality. 

Aziraphale wanted to. 

It was bloody  _ terrifying… how much _ he wanted to. 

He didn’t allow himself to stop to think about it; he reached down and grasped the hair at the back of Gabriel’s head, roughly jerking his head back. It was an empty gesture, really, Aziraphale knew. Gabriel could have broken Aziraphale’s grip in an instant if he’d tried. 

But Gabriel didn’t know that - and he didn’t try. 

He moved with Aziraphale’s hand almost  _ eagerly _ , allowing his head to be manipulated, positioned and held exactly where Aziraphale wanted it. His lips were parted and trembling, his eyes locked onto Aziraphale’s face with a desperate urgency as he just…  _ waited _ . 

Aziraphale smiled at the perversely cruel idea that all at once occurred to him. His hand tightened in Gabriel’s hair, and the archangel winced, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Aziraphale had brought the Hellfire blade close to his mouth. Gabriel’s eyes went wide and frightened, and he shivered, shaking his head a little in Aziraphale’s grasp, a wordless plea. 

“You said you’d do as I say,” Aziraphale reminded him, his tone hard and warning. “Didn’t you?” 

“Y-yes,” Gabriel whispered, swallowing convulsively, eyes locked onto the blade. 

“Good.” Aziraphale smiled, bringing the blade near enough that he could see the mist of Gabriel’s shuddering breath on the steel. “Then  _ keep still _ .” 

Gabriel made a valiant effort to obey. Aziraphale could feel him resisting his instinct to… well, to  _ resist _ . Forcing his head and body to move where Aziraphale directed him. Struggling not to pull away as Aziraphale teased him mercilessly with the blade, again and again bringing it to  _ just barely _ not touching Gabriel’s chest… his throat… his lips… his  _ eyes _ . He was desperately, earnestly submissive, doing everything in his power to appease Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale was not appeased. Aziraphale was only further incensed. 

He found himself resisting the urge to carve into Gabriel’s exposed flesh with the blade… the impulse to hold the cursed steel against sensitive skin, vulnerable parts, until Gabriel struggled and sobbed and  _ begged _ … the desire to shove the blade into Gabriel’s mouth, down his throat until it choked him. 

No, better yet, to shove his  _ cock _ past those trembling, parted lips, and let him choke on  _ that _ . 

To silence him. 

To prove to him that his power and position and everything he’d ever thought made him  _ better  _ than Aziraphale had always been an illusion - a lie. Aziraphale had experienced just the slightest taste of what it was to see Gabriel break and beg before him - but it wasn’t enough. 

He wanted to  _ shatter _ him until there was nothing left to put back together again. 

It was a dark hunger stirring deep within him, lustful and furious… and utterly terrifying. 

Abruptly, Aziraphale let go of Gabriel, snapping his fingers to put the blade away, back in the drawer, with the sword pin. 

Gabriel blinked up at him, startled and confused, gasping with relief. “I - what…?” 

Aziraphale lashed out, slapping Gabriel hard across the face, rocking him back on his knees hard enough that the archangel had to catch himself on one hand to keep from falling, the other hand pressed against his reddened cheek. Irrationally furious, Aziraphale caught his wrist and jerked him in closer. Gabriel flinched, his body tense and braced for worse as Aziraphale shook him slightly, the action hopefully masking the fact that he himself was trembling with rage and frustration, and… and  _ fear. _

He kept his voice low to disguise his own emotions as he snarled at Gabriel. 

“I believe I told you to  _ shut your mouth _ .” 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly in acknowledgement, biting his lip, perfectly silent. 

Aziraphale released him with a disgusted shove. “ _ Go _ ,” he ordered hoarsely. 

Gabriel looked up at him, surprised and uncertain. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers to retrieve the clothes he’d taken from Gabriel, and they appeared beside him on the floor - in a deliberately rumpled, messy heap, and missing the sword lapel pin. 

“Get dressed and get out,” Aziraphale insisted, turning wearily away from him and running his hand across his own face, drawing in a shaky breath. 

By the time Gabriel had dressed… Aziraphale had just about regained his composure. He turned back to face the archangel, just as he headed for the door. 

“Gabriel.” 

Gabriel froze, half-turning back toward Aziraphale, eyes downcast, but with a wary expression on his face that clearly told Aziraphale that he had  _ absolutely no idea _ what to expect at this point - if he was actually going to be allowed to leave, or if Aziraphale was going to continue to torment him a while longer. 

And whichever was the case - there was an intoxicating  _ acceptance _ in his posture and expression - a profound certainty that whichever it was that Aziraphale wanted - it  _ would happen.  _

Aziraphale smiled at him, slow and sly, keeping his voice soft and mildly suggestive. 

“See you next week.” 

Gabriel glanced up at him then, a trace of bright, desperate panic in his eyes for just a moment, before it dulled into resignation. He said nothing, just looked away and nodded once, then slipped out and quietly closed the door behind him. 

*****************************************************************************

It was quite late when Crowley returned from Tadfield. 

Aziraphale had been right, he had to admit; it had been a long afternoon that had stretched far into evening. 

But it had also been a surprisingly enjoyable one. 

It had taken Crowley all of twenty minutes to declare the books to be utter fakes - some overly dramatic and overly self-important human’s ridiculous  _ idea _ of what spells and such should look like, complete with made up histories and details about specific demons whom Crowley knew beyond any doubt had never existed. 

It was all utter bullshit, really. 

“Not worth your time, or mine,” he’d informed Anathema flatly. 

So she’d offered him a drink for his trouble - a surprisingly good drink, which turned into several more, until between the two of them, they’d polished off the entire bottle. 

In keeping with the apparent theme of the day, Anathema proved to be surprisingly good at keeping up with Crowley when it came to drinking. 

Although grudgingly at first, ultimately, Crowley had to admit - the conversation, and the company, had been every bit as good as the alcohol. 

He’d actually had quite a good time. 

When he arrived back at the shop, it was quiet and dark. He went upstairs to the apartment, surprised to find most of the lights turned out there, as well. 

“Aziraphale? Angel? Where are you?” he called out cautiously as he made his way through the apartment with a troubled frown, disbelieving his own question even as it left his lips. “You  _ asleep _ ?”

Abruptly, firm hands caught his waist, then spun him around and pushed him up against the nearest flattish surface, which happened to be the kitchen counter. Crowley’s little sound of startled protest was muffled, and then swallowed up by fervent kisses, urgent hands roving over his body and then tugging him insistently toward their bedroom door. 

He might have been a  _ bit _ more alarmed, had the touch, and the kiss, not been so dearly familiar, and welcome. 

Crowley laughed, low and warm, meeting his angel’s unexpected, loving attack by wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and drawing him in closer. 

“What, not so much as a, ‘hello, how was your day’?” he teased as Aziraphale backed him toward the bed they shared. 

Aziraphale shoved Crowley down onto it, fairly pouncing on top of him, fingers lacing with Crowley’s and pressing him into the mattress with hands and mouth as he kissed him breathless before at last pulling back. His eyes were dark with desire, gleaming in the faint glow from the bathroom light, but his lips turned up in affection and amusement as he dutifully offered, 

“Did you have a good time?” 

“Yes, in fact,” Crowley laughed. He regarded his angel, still hovering over him, pinning him gently to the bed with an intensity in his eyes that was heated and enticing, and just a little unnerving. Crowley arched a speculative brow. “What sort of a time did  _ you _ have, exactly?” 

Aziraphale’s shoulders fell just a little, and he glanced away before meeting Crowley’s eyes again. “ _ Lonely _ ,” he answered at last, fervent and hungry, before leaning in to kiss Crowley again. 

Crowley frowned a little, troubled by the unexpected answer. But very soon, he found himself far too distracted to focus on his concerns. 

Aziraphale made sure of it. 

Crowley’s angel was fierce and forceful in a way that Crowley wasn’t exactly used to from him. Aziraphale had always known what he wanted in bed, and Crowley was accustomed to his expressing it quite clearly, asking for what he wanted and making suggestions he thought they both might enjoy. 

Usually, they did. 

This was…  _ different _ . 

Aziraphale held Crowley down as he explored his body with his mouth, with his hands - assertive and commanding, but careful and gentle at the same time. Intensely focused on  _ Crowley’s _ satisfaction, Aziraphale seemed to take pleasure from every little moan or whimper he managed to draw from Crowley’s lips… every little shiver of sensation, and he’d repeat the same touch or kiss in the same spot to coax it out of his demon again. 

By the time he was finished, Crowley was so thoroughly wrung out with pleasure that he could hardly  _ move _ \- let alone remember why he’d felt a bit unsettled about this whole thing when they’d started. He lay there on the bed, still and content, Aziraphale’s warm, soft body collapsed comfortably across his. He stroked long fingers through his angel’s sweat-damp hair, and something inside him  _ opened up _ , heat and affection blooming within him at Aziraphale’s sleepy, sated smile. 

“Seems a bit of alone time’s good for you,” Crowley remarked, teasing. “I should go out on my own more often.” 

There was a glimmer of something strange in Aziraphale’s eyes then, and his smile…  _ slipped _ , a little, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something. Then, instead, he rose up to kiss Crowley again, stealing his breath and his focus until the barest inkling of a troubled thought vanished under the fresh onslaught of pleasured sensation - lost to him along with the beginning stirrings of concerns for which Crowley could, for the moment, no longer remember the reason. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: 
> 
> Dub-con. Pretty sketchy dub-con. Some might consider it to be non-con. 
> 
> Lots of dark!Aziraphale being pretty much the Worst.

“Heavens be damned, Aziraphale, you’re bloody well wearing me out!” Crowley laughed breathlessly, collapsing back onto the bed. 

Aziraphale took a moment to take him in - hair all askew, eyes shut over a blissed out smile, a fine sheen of perspiration glistening on his skin as he slowly caught his breath. Aziraphale laid his head down and relaxed, resting his cheek against Crowley’s chest to hide the warm blush he could feel stealing across his face. Beneath the exhaustion in Crowley’s voice, he could hear a note of awed appreciation and smiled a little, allowing himself a sense of satisfaction. 

He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation as Crowley ran slender, elegant fingers through his messy curls.

“Surprise shag in the middle of the day… that sexy  _ ambush _ the other night,” Crowley teased, pushing gently at Aziraphale’s bare shoulder before resuming lightly stroking his hair. “What’s gotten into you lately, angel?” 

Aziraphale shrugged a little, both pleased and self-conscious at the same time, as he ran a finger idly down the expanse of tantalizing skin just below where his cheek rested. 

“Not sure, really,” he replied softly. “Just love you.” 

It was…  _ mostly _ the truth. 

He  _ did _ love Crowley, more than anything in the world. There was  _ nothing _ he wouldn’t do for his dear demon - and just now, he felt compelled to make sure that Crowley  _ knew _ it, beyond any question. Crowley was beautiful, and perfect, and deserved to be made to feel that way. He deserved to know just how special and important to Aziraphale he actually was - and Aziraphale had spent the greater part of the past week indulging his own desire to  _ give _ Crowley what he deserved. 

It had nearly nothing to do with the fact that Aziraphale had come frighteningly close to being unfaithful to Crowley the last time he’d met with Gabriel. 

He just wanted to lavish upon Crowley all the love that he held for him, until he forgot any doubts or uncertainties he might have held… forgot the long millennia in which he’d been denied and rejected even, at times, by Aziraphale… forgot, quite possibly, even his own  _ name _ under the relentless onslaught of sheer pleasure Aziraphale wished to give him. 

Judging by the soft, sleepy smile on Crowley’s face, Aziraphale was fairly certain he’d succeeded. 

He raised his head, tracing a teasing circle into the coarse red hair peppered across Crowley’s chest. 

“I…  _ could _ stop…” 

“Don’t ever!” Crowley retorted, exaggeratedly aghast, but he was grinning as he lifted his head just enough to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“But just look at you, poor dear,” Aziraphale persisted, schooling his mouth into a playfully sympathetic pout, as he lifted himself up again on one arm, hovering over Crowley as he traced his free hand down to the demon’s hip, nimble fingers teasing inward. “I should clearly let you rest. You’re exhausted.” 

Crowley drew in a sharp gasp as Aziraphale’s skillful hand found its target, his beautiful serpent’s eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he looked up at Aziraphale again with an effort, heavy-lidded. 

“I believe I’ll somehow survive,” he drawled. 

Almost the very moment they finished their second go-round - and it was the third time that week that they’d  _ had _ a second go-round immediately after their first - Crowley drifted off into blissful, sated oblivion. 

Aziraphale… did not. 

Not a single night had gone by since his encounter with the archangel that Aziraphale hadn’t made love to Crowley, pouring all of the tenderness and affection he possessed into his partner, and doing everything he could to shut out the pervasive thoughts that filled most of his waking moments these days… the tempting fantasies that crept their way into his mind when he was attempting to focus on a book, or contemplating what he might want for lunch. 

It was a persistent, increasingly demanding _ itch _ that he  _ knew better _ than to allow himself to scratch, leaving him restless and jittery, even in the wake of these lovely intimate moments.

All week, thankfully, Crowley had been far too happily exhausted to notice. 

_ It has nothing to  _ do  _ with Crowley _ , Aziraphale reminded himself.  _ Shouldn’t be of concern to him, even if he  _ did  _ know… _

Aziraphale had drawn that conclusion a few days in, and it had provided him with some faint measure of relief for the guilt and confusion that plagued his mind. 

Crowley was beautiful and perfect, and Aziraphale loved him more than his own life. There was nothing lacking in Crowley - no unmet need Aziraphale was nursing, when it came to romance and intimacy and… well,  _ sex _ . 

These dark thoughts that consumed him, these insidious  _ cravings _ , had little to do with sex, and less even to do with Crowley. Aziraphale could never  _ imagine  _ doing those sorts of things to Crowley. 

Only to someone who…  _ actually deserved _ it. 

He tried once again to shut out the troublesome thoughts and nestled instinctively in nearer to Crowley, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin at his throat. Crowley shifted, waking a bit, smiling and wrapping Aziraphale up tighter in his arms. They lay there in silence for a while, comfortable for Crowley, judging by the relaxed feeling of his body pressed against Aziraphale’s - but weighted with worry for Aziraphale, as he tried to come up with a way to explain to Crowley just what he’d gotten himself into. 

He supposed it’d be best if he could figure that out for himself, first. 

Gabriel would be returning to the shop the very next night - and Crowley still had no idea he’d been there the first time. 

“Anathema rang today,” Crowley spoke up after a few minutes, his voice hushed and heavy with sleep. “Wants me to come round tomorrow night.” 

And just like that, Aziraphale’s worries evaporated - at least for the moment. 

“Got a few more books she’d like me to look at,” Crowley explained. 

“And a fresh bottle or two as well, I’d wager,” Aziraphale teased. 

“Probably,” Crowley admitted with a smile. “Seems she enjoys my company.” 

“And you hers as well,” Aziraphale pointed out, and Crowley’s smile widened a little as he conceded with a single nod. 

“Who knew Book Girl'd turn out to be so interesting? She's quiet, but she's sharp. Strong opinions.” He waved a hand in the air in a vaguely dismissive gesture, too tired to continue explaining his affinity with the strange and solemn human girl. “Anyway, she’s new here, isn’t she? Doesn’t have many connections yet. Think she’s lonely. Might be a good idea to try… making a regular thing of it. I dunno.” 

Aziraphale was pleased. As far as he knew, it’d been a long time since Crowley had spent time with any friend besides him.

It'd been a long time since Crowley had _had_ any friend besides him.

“I think that’s an  _ excellent _ idea, my darling. Have fun,” Aziraphale said brightly, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s cheek before drawing back to give him a sly, suggestive smile. “I’ll be waiting up.” 

Crowley laughed, and pulled Aziraphale back down into his arms. He was asleep again within minutes. 

Aziraphale lay awake in his embrace…  _ thinking _ . 

Perhaps it was a sign, he reasoned - the obstacles along his course of action removed so instantaneously, without the slightest effort on his part. Surely if the things he was imagining were so very sinful, then everything would not fall into place for them to happen so  _ easily _ ? 

_ Evil contains the seeds of its own destruction, which means that…Gabriel brought this on himself,  _ Aziraphale reasoned.  _ And, if I’m not meant to do this, then… I will fail. Something  _ will happen _ to stop me.  _

And really, the more he thought about it, the more certain Aziraphale became that his thoughts and desires were… not _ necessarily _ sinful. The images that filled his mind, of Gabriel’s submission and humiliation, were more and more overpowering - but they were  _ not _ overtly sexual. Not about wanting something… better, or  _ more _ than Crowley. 

As if such a thing were even possible. 

This wasn’t about a desire to be unfaithful to his partner. No, this was something…  _ else _ . 

An entirely  _ different _ need, something… deeper and darker than sex. A sense of satisfaction in seeing someone he’d once feared, someone whose disapproval he had dreaded every time he’d passed the gates of Heaven - brought low. Trembling and frightened on his knees, pleading for forgiveness. 

He’d given it a lot of thought this past week - when he  _ hadn’t _ been ravishing his lovely demon boyfriend - and it wasn’t as if the concept was without precedent. In countless texts housed on his shelves, including the Bible, reference was made to conquered kings being made to prostrate themselves, the foot of their conquerors pressed down across their necks… stripped of their royal robes, forced to kneel beneath the tables of their captors… the great Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar, reduced to the state of a mere beast, crawling and scavenging for sustenance. 

Throughout history, it had always been clear - it was the will of the Almighty for the haughty to be brought low, for their sinful pride and arrogance to be broken. 

Gabriel was no better than any of them had once been, with his chosen garments of royal purple, his arrogance and presumptuousness in speaking for the Almighty, passing judgment in Her name. To see him kneeling at Aziraphale’s feet, contrite, pleading for mercy… the gratification that would bring to Aziraphale would be  _ beyond _ the mere physical. It was not a sexual lust that drove that desire within Aziraphale. It was a desire for vindication, and victory. 

A desire for  _ justice _ . 

_He_ ** _does_** _deserve it,_ the dark little voice in the back of his mind whispered, seductive and convincing. _And unexpectedly, the way has been cleared for you to dole out that justice, unhindered. Perhaps this means that…_ _just maybe…_ **_She_** _thinks he deserves it, too._

***************************************************************************

Gabriel arrived at the bookshop about an hour after Crowley left. Aziraphale was working - or rather, pretending to work - behind the check-out counter, and he remained there a few minutes longer, not acknowledging Gabriel with a word or a glance, but acutely aware of every detail of his appearance and demeanor. 

From the moment he set foot past the door, it was clear just how very unhappy the archangel was with being made to be there. 

He was quiet, subdued, head bowed… but Aziraphale could see the impatient frustration in his wary eyes; the stubborn set of his jaw for  _ just a moment  _ when Aziraphale just silently nodded toward the door to the backroom… before he released a sigh, and obeyed the wordless instruction, his heavy steps a none-too-subtle conveyance of his resentment as he walked past Aziraphale into the empty room. 

_ Ah, so it’s to be like  _ that _ today, then, is it?  _ Aziraphale’s mouth set in a thin, angry line.  _ Very well.  _

He welcomed the challenge with eager anticipation. 

Aziraphale followed Gabriel into the backroom, lightly tapping his hand twice against Gabriel’s shoulder in a second unspoken but clear command. 

Gabriel’s fist clenched at his side, just before he sank to his knees with a frustrated little huff. 

“Look, the report is always going to be the same,” he said wearily. “No one’s coming after you.” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowed slightly as he added, “I don’t know why you’d need to worry if they did…”

Gabriel’s words, combined with the intelligent curiosity in his expression, set off alarms in Aziraphale’s head. He would have to handle this situation carefully to avoid further igniting Gabriel’s suspicions. He would have to move beyond words, to a clear physical demonstration that would bring the archangel so fully under his control that he would no longer dare question. 

It was necessary. For Aziraphale’s protection, and for Crowley’s, Gabriel had to be  _ completely convinced  _ of Aziraphale’s power. 

Aziraphale dropped Gabriel’s gaze, allowing a soft little huff of amusement to pass his lips. “You think  _ I’m  _ worried,” he remarked, shaking his head at the ludicrous suggestion. He shrugged a little, glancing back up at Gabriel, calculating and cool. “Not for myself, at any rate.” 

“Why are you - what do you  _ want _ from me?” Gabriel sighed. “Heaven’s intentions are to  _ stay the fuck away _ from you, all right? And nothing’s going to change…” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say  _ that _ at all.” Aziraphale smiled, turning to face Gabriel more fully, taking a measured step nearer to him. “ _ You _ are.”

Gabriel stopped, frowning, visibly alarmed. 

“What I want from you… from this,” Aziraphale mused, pacing slowly, a pensive hand supporting his chin. “I’ve been giving that a fair bit of thought, and I’ve realized what it is that’s been bothering me.” He stopped directly in front of Gabriel, facing him. “It’s you. You haven’t faced any consequences for the things you’ve done to me. You haven’t…  _ learned _ anything from all--” 

“ _ Excuse _ me?” Gabriel protested, indignant. “I’m on my fucking  _ knees _ on this disgusting floor in this gross little shop on this worthless planet. That feels a lot like  _ consequences _ , to me, and I didn’t even…” His words broke off abruptly when Aziraphale fixed him with a cold, angry glare. He swallowed hard, visibly remeasuring his words. “I  _ have _ learned,” he insisted, quieter, but with no less urgency. “I know now. I fucked up. All right? And I can fix it, I can do better, I will…” 

The archangel’s words trailed off as Aziraphale waved his hand in the air with a little flourish, and the hellfire dagger appeared in his hand. He took a moment to examine it, making sure he had Gabriel’s full attention before he spoke, deceptively soft. 

“If you persist in interrupting me, Gabriel, this conversation will swiftly become…  _ vastly _ more unpleasant.” 

Gabriel’s lips parted, but he quickly closed them again, his violet gaze locked onto the weapon as Aziraphale turned its handle in his hand. 

He handled the blade  _ very _ carefully. 

The handle was safe. He could touch it all he liked without consequence. But the blade was another story. Aziraphale knew just how badly it could hurt; he’d tested it the night before, while Crowley slept. He didn’t cut himself, no - Crowley had warned him against that. He’d simply held the thin spine of the blade close to the inside of his own arm. Even without actual contact, he’d felt the searing heat of it. 

And when he’d very carefully touched it to the skin of his forearm, for just an instant… the pain had been  _ excruciating _ . 

He’d barely managed to suppress a scream, collapsing to his own knees, and biting down on the inside of his uninjured arm in order to keep from waking Crowley. Mere contact with the cursed metal had left a deep red burn… and it had burned for  _ hours  _ before the pain of it had finally faded away. 

He was fairly certain that it was going to leave a scar. 

He was mildly surprised to realize that he was quite all right with that. 

He’d just have to find a way to explain the scar to Crowley,  _ without _ having his fiercely protective boyfriend confiscate the weapon entirely. 

He just had to  _ know _ how it felt - exactly how much damage it would do - before he could consider using it on someone else. 

No matter how much they might deserve it. 

Aziraphale had no intention whatsoever of cutting Gabriel with the blade; he didn’t want the archangel dead. 

He wanted him…  _ humbled _ . 

“So tell me, Gabriel,” he began, his gaze focused on the dagger as he raised it before his eyes, turning it idly in his hand. “If you’ve learned so much so quickly… what are your sins?” 

“Pride,” Gabriel answered immediately, decisively. “I’m proud, and - and vain, about my looks, and my clothes, and - you’re right, Aziraphale. That’s a sin.” 

Aziraphale nodded curtly, looking Gabriel over for a moment before moving closer, lowering his hand until the blade was level with the top button of Gabriel’s suit coat. He relished the archangel’s sharp little intake of breath as he tucked the tip of the blade beneath the button, just inside Gabriel’s coat, and flicked it upward sharply, shearing off the button so that the coat fell open a bit. 

“And  _ yet _ …” he remarked, giving Gabriel’s now-ruined ensemble a slow, pointed once-over. 

Gabriel winced. He glanced up at Aziraphale for a moment before focusing his gaze on the tip of the blade, resting lightly over the thin fabric of his soft grey dress shirt. 

“Look, I - I’m not perfect,” he admitted with rising anxiety in his words as he went on. “I know it looks bad. I know, but - I’m an archangel, Aziraphale. I have thousands of angels answering to  _ me _ , looking to  _ me _ for leadership. It’s important that I project a certain image, an… impressive presentation. Of authority.” 

“A good example,” Aziraphale concluded with a solemn nod. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gabriel agreed eagerly. “You  _ do _ get...”

His words broke off abruptly as Aziraphale lifted the blade from his chest, bringing the tip up under Gabriel’s chin, forcing him to tilt his head back and close his mouth - effectively silencing him. 

“You must be very careful,” Aziraphale continued, his words hushed and measured as he crouched down to face Gabriel, without lowering the blade at all. “They observe your behavior… your  _ sins _ … and many of them will learn from you and do likewise. Do you know what  _ I’ve _ learned from your example, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel shook his head a mere fraction, tense and trembling, barely daring to move. 

“I learned that there is no mercy for mistakes. I learned that the answer to imperfection is complete destruction. Best of intentions, however flawed, are met with a pillar of Hellfire and eternal annihilation, no matter  _ what  _ you meant--” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel gasped out, his breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. “ _ Please _ , Aziraphale…”

“There you go,” Aziraphale sighed, his free hand reaching back to grasp the back of Gabriel’s collar, holding him still as he edged the tip of the blade in closer, and Gabriel bit back a choked little whimper. “Cutting me off again.  _ Do _ be quiet, please.” 

Gabriel bit back the rest of the words on his lips with a silent, pleading nod. 

“You and the others were so ready to leap to judgment without giving me any chance to correct my course,” Aziraphale went on. “When clearly… you are the one who has been on the wrong path. Yes?”

Gabriel nodded again, closing his eyes, not daring to speak. 

“But don’t worry, Gabriel.” 

Aziraphale smiled, at last drawing back the blade and lowering it to his side, the hand at the back of Gabriel’s neck running affectionately up through his hair before withdrawing as well. Gabriel allowed his head to fall forward, as he shuddered with relief, drawing in deep, shaky breaths. 

“I’m going to show you more mercy than you were willing to show me.” 

He was quiet for a moment, before echoing Gabriel’s words. “An… image of authority, was it? That’s the purpose of… _ this _ …” He rose back to his feet slowly, waving the blade in a vaguely circular motion to indicate Gabriel’s outfit. “That’s what it’s meant to project?” 

Gabriel’s head was bowed as he slowly recovered, and he nodded uncertainly, eyes downcast. “I’m just trying to… to distinguish myself,” he explained, a faintly pleading note to his words. “To make sure that I… command respect.” 

“Not here, you don’t,” Aziraphale declared with soft certainty. “Here… you will learn to display an appropriate level of humility. And regret, for the many,  _ many _ ways in which you’ve wronged your subordinates.” He paused, then asked quietly, calmly, “How have you wronged…  _ me _ ,  _ specifically _ , Gabriel?” 

Gabriel glanced up at Aziraphale for a moment before focusing his gaze on the blade. “I… tried to execute you,” he answered, sounding sick, despairing. “And that was  _ wrong _ , Aziraphale, I’m  _ sorry _ …” 

“You weren’t acting on orders from On High.  _ Obviously _ ,” Aziraphale concluded. 

If he and Crowley had been in the wrong, their ruse would most certainly have failed.  _ Her _ judgment was complete, and final. They were alive because they were  _ right _ . 

And Gabriel was here, at the end of his blade, because he was so very deeply  _ wrong _ . 

“You simply did what  _ you _ wanted,” Aziraphale accused him, his quiet words touched with anger. “Acted out of your pettiness and pride. I’m going to help you, Gabriel. Help you to shed those sins. To offer penance until you’ve cast them off, paid what you owe, and become…  _ better _ .” 

Gabriel blinked up at him in disbelief, and behind the fear in his eyes, Aziraphale saw a trace of contempt. His lips were trembling, but one curled up in disgust. 

“And you’re the one to teach me how to be better?” His voice trembled with barely veiled anger. “To… decide  _ what I owe _ ? Who are  _ you _ to…?” 

His words were choked off abruptly as Aziraphale moved in swiftly, grabbing him by the collar with both hands, the blade still clenched tightly in his right fist, now dangerously close to Gabriel’s face. Gabriel flinched and went silent and still, visibly braced for retaliation. 

Aziraphale’s voice was low and hot, not with the fires of Hell, but with the ferocity of his conviction. “I’m the only angel who’s ever walked in Hellfire,” he declared. “The only one who can wield this blade… touch it, without being harmed. Can you say the same?” 

Gabriel’s eyes were closed tight, his breath quick and shallow, his head turned as far from the heat of the blade as he could manage. 

“No,” he whispered, breathless and careful. 

“I understood the true nature of Her plans far better than you ever have. And for that, you attempted to destroy me. I faced down the  _ devil himself _ , after you’d gone running with your tail tucked between your legs. Of the two of us,” Aziraphale demanded, his voice a low, furious hiss filled with vicious condemnation, “which would you say has Her seal of approval?” 

Gabriel was quiet for a long tense moment, then swallowed slowly. His voice was soft and cautious when at last he broke the silence. 

“What would you have me do?” 

It wasn’t quite the unequivocal acceptance, the validation that Aziraphale had been seeking. But as a tempting distraction, it was… quite effective. A question with so many answers, so many  _ possibilities _ , that Aziraphale hardly knew where to start. Mollified by Gabriel’s submission, Aziraphale slowly released his grip on Gabriel’s collar, lowering the blade and stroking a soothing hand through Gabriel’s hair in a gentle gesture of approval. 

“We’ll start off slowly,” he declared softly. “I want you to begin to shed the pride and vanity that hinder you from true holiness. This…” He once more indicated Gabriel’s fine suit, now hanging off him, torn and wrinkled. “This has to go.” 

“Everyone will notice,” Gabriel pointed out, flinching a little as he spoke, as if he expected Aziraphale to lash out again. When he did not, Gabriel went on, anxious and pleading. “They’ll ask questions, they’ll wonder why, it’ll just bring more attention to my appearance than ever…”

Aziraphale removed his hand from Gabriel’s hair and placed his finger against Gabriel’s mouth instead, gently silencing him - relishing the feel of his lips, soft and trembling, breath hot and shaky against Aziraphale’s skin. It was an odd, dark sort of  _ thrill _ : the knowledge that Gabriel _ could _ pull away at any moment, if only he  _ knew _ he could. But he didn’t dare, remaining completely, carefully still under Aziraphale’s touch.

“Just… one little piece at a time,” Aziraphale suggested. “Gradually. Start with this.” He tugged gently at Gabriel’s tie, then stepped back a bit, watching and waiting expectantly. 

Gabriel looked up at him, the former defiance drained from his eyes, replaced with uncertainty. He reached up with shaky hands and carefully unknotted his tie, then laid it on the floor beside him. 

“Very good.” Aziraphale nodded with approval. “I don’t want you to wear one at all between now and when I see you again.” 

“Okay,” Gabriel agreed, soft and subdued. 

Aziraphale let him rise, then, and leave. Once he had gone, Aziraphale bent down and picked up the discarded tie - black with fine silver stripes - running his fingers over the luxuriously soft fabric. 

Gabriel would not obey - of that he was certain. 

But that was all right. It was all according to plan, really. 

Aziraphale took the tie to his desk and opened the small drawer on the top left which, at the moment, held only a tiny silver sword pin. He picked up the pin and carefully fastened it to the tie, then placed both together back in the drawer and shut it again - already mentally making preparation for the lesson that would certainly be in order when he next saw the archangel. 

*********************************************************************************

Gabriel tried. He  _ really _ did. 

Even if the  _ very last thing _ he’d _ ever  _ thought he’d do would be taking  _ orders _ from  _ fucking Aziraphale _ \- much less  _ life advice _ from someone he’d often thought of as the most particularly  _ useless _ angel in existence. 

But then, Aziraphale had not only survived but  _ commanded _ Hellfire - and  _ everything _ had changed. 

Not necessarily in that order. 

Nothing had gone as Gabriel had expected. Absolutely  _ nothing _ . The Apocalypse he’d been preparing for, for millennia, had failed to happen. And while he’d initially thought that was, naturally, a  _ bad _ thing - Aziraphale had had a point, that day at the airfield. If it was truly God’s plan - truly what was  _ meant  _ to happen, then… it  _ would have happened _ , right? And it hadn’t happened. 

All of Heaven was left in the dark, in confusion, wondering what actually was Her plan, all along - lost and scared and desperately seeking some way to  _ fix it _ , to be  _ sure _ again, of something,  _ anything _ . 

Execute the traitor. 

It had seemed a reasonable course of action - a first step toward putting things to rights. Until Aziraphale walked out of the hellfire unscathed and demonstrating other strange, inexplicable powers. He seemed to be untouchable by all but the Almighty Herself. 

And She was strangely quiet on the whole affair. 

Gabriel had prayed, and wept, and  _ begged _ for answers - and received only silence in return. 

Aziraphale claimed Her approval - Her divine protection - and She had done nothing to prove his claim false. No almighty smiting had met the principality’s claims. No punishment for either his averting the Apocalypse, or anything he’d done since then. 

So… maybe Aziraphale was right. Maybe he now held Her favor, and was to be obeyed, to be regarded as a source of wisdom and guidance. Gabriel had clearly been getting a lot of things wrong for a very long time. Maybe he’d been wrong about Aziraphale. 

Maybe Aziraphale had been right about everything. 

And even if he wasn’t, he had…  _ expectations _ . 

Gabriel  _ really _ didn’t want to show up for their next meeting having disappointed him. 

When he reached the gates of Heaven, he snapped his fingers to repair his damaged suit - but did not replace the tie. He didn’t put one on the next morning, or the morning after that, either. And then, on the third day, Sandalphon walked into his office to pass on a report. 

“That’s a…  _ different _ look for you,” he remarked. 

Absently, his focus on the report laid out in front of him, Gabriel replied, “Thanks.” 

Sandalphon gave a vaguely contemptuous sniff. “I didn’t say it was a  _ good _ look.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched, his face flushing with an uneasy, self-conscious feeling - any remaining shreds of his tattered confidence vanishing in an instant. He didn’t grace Sandalphon’s mildly insulting words with so much as a glance, focusing on his work and ignoring the other archangel as if his opinion was utterly unimportant to him. 

The next morning, he stood in front of his mirror - debating. 

Aziraphale hadn’t shown up in Heaven to check on him, to make sure he was obeying his orders. Aziraphale didn’t really have any way of knowing  _ what _ Gabriel was wearing from day to day… did he? 

He left it off that morning, uncertain. It’d be just his luck that the moment he put it on, Aziraphale would show up. 

But...he didn’t. 

And the fifth morning, Gabriel completed his ensemble with a soft grey tie with a subtle lavender pinstripe. 

On the seventh day, he went to meet Aziraphale at the prescribed time - leaving the tie in his quarters with the rest of his collection. 

He walked quietly into the room where Aziraphale liked to have these meetings, slipping to his knees gracefully without being told. Aziraphale was quiet as well, pacing slowly around him, surveying him. His fingers fell lightly against the back of Gabriel’s neck, sliding around to the bare patch of skin where his tie would have been. 

“Very good,” he said with soft approval, and Gabriel suppressed a shiver. Then, Aziraphale tilted his head up, meeting his eyes - and his icy blue gaze was hard and piercing. “Were you obedient… all week, Gabriel?”

“Yes,” Gabriel lied without hesitation. “Yes, I did as you said.” 

Aziraphale nodded, holding Gabriel’s gaze, cool and calculating. “You wouldn’t be lying to me right now, would you?” 

Gabriel’s stomach dropped, his heart racing, but he tried to steady himself. 

_ He’s guessing… trying to read your reaction,  _ he told himself.  _ There’s no way he could know… _

“No,” he insisted quietly. “No, I’m telling the truth.” 

Aziraphale nodded again, slowly, contemplative. “So… when I visit Heaven once we’re finished here… and I  _ ask  _ them about your appearance this week… what do you suppose they’ll tell me?” As he spoke, he snapped his fingers, and the hellfire dagger appeared in his hand. 

Gabriel’s mouth went dry. He hesitated, as Aziraphale thoughtfully examined his weapon, musing. 

“I don’t…  _ imagine _ I’d have to hurt anyone,” he remarked. “I’m fairly certain they’ll be quite willing to tell me anything I ask.” He frowned, troubled. “But… it’s possible they’d feel compelled to lie for you. To protect you, or… simply because you’ve asked them to, while wearing that… ‘impressive presentation of authority’.” He glanced at Gabriel with a quick, contemptuous smirk, before allowing it to fall away, his eyes cold and hard as he held Gabriel’s gaze. “And if  _ they _ lie to me, too? Well, that won’t end well for anyone, now, will it?” 

_ He knows. Shit, he knows.  _

“Okay,” Gabriel caved, his words coming out in a hoarse, shallow whisper. “Okay, I - I did it for a few days, but - they  _ did _ think it was strange, I knew they would, and they mentioned it, and - I had to keep from drawing too much attention, right? And I didn’t really think it mattered all that much…” 

“When did I ever say I’m  _ bothered _ with how much  _ attention _ you draw to yourself, Gabriel?” Aziraphale snapped, contempt dripping from his words. They softened slightly as he continued. “If you’re  _ ashamed _ that you’re in this position… requiring this training, well… I suppose that’s  _ your _ cross to bear, isn’t it? I haven’t asked you to  _ hide _ anything.” 

Gabriel considered that for a moment. He’d just sort of naturally assumed that Aziraphale would not want the rest of Heaven knowing about this strange little  _ arrangement _ he’d forced into place between them. 

But then… why should Aziraphale  _ care _ ? 

It wasn’t as if there was anyone there who could stop him. 

“You’re a liar,” Aziraphale declared with severity. “So you presume that  _ I’d _ ask you to lie, as well. Your moral judgment is compromised. Has been for quite a long time, or you wouldn’t be in this position at all.” 

He snapped his fingers sharply, very near Gabriel’s face, and Gabriel flinched away, the image of Hellfire sparking from those fingers still all too fresh in his mind. But Aziraphale had simply miracled away Gabriel’s clothing, leaving him completely naked and exposed. Gabriel’s heart sank. After he’d been allowed his flimsy shield last time, he’d thought, perhaps…

“Your sins.” Aziraphale’s voice went cold and soft, as he moved in close to Gabriel, the blade extended in his hand, mere inches from Gabriel’s face. “What are they?” 

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath to steady himself. “Pride,” he repeated, defeated and soft. “Vanity.” He glanced up at Aziraphale, his stomach clenching when Aziraphale carefully lifted the blade close to his lips, a single eyebrow quirked expectantly upward. “Lying,” he whispered. “I - lied to you.” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s tone was cold and terse. “Go on.” 

Gabriel blinked up at him in surprise. What else was there? Of course, there were other things, a long laundry list of grievances that Aziraphale seemed to have against him throughout the many centuries. There  _ had _ to be more, but with the blade so near to his lips that he could feel the heat radiating off of it, and Aziraphale glaring down at him as if  _ daring _ him to just give him an  _ excuse _ … 

“I-I don’t know,” Gabriel pleaded, feeling panic closing tight around his throat. “Please, I - I’m not sure…” 

“ _ Hypocrisy _ ,” Aziraphale spat out in disgust. “Indulging in earthly pleasures while condemning others for the same. Abusing your position of power to humiliate and mistreat, and yes, occasionally even  _ attempting to execute _ your subordinates.” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel pleaded, unable to lift his voice over a whisper, or his eyes past the blade. “I’m sorry, please…” 

His words broke off in a gasp when Aziraphale crouched down to face him, gripping the hair at the back of his head and jerking him in close, holding the blade up between their faces. Aziraphale’s eyes were lit with a cruel amusement, his words soft and almost teasing. 

“Do you know what a blade like this does, to any  _ ordinary _ angel?” 

Gabriel’s heart raced with panic. He couldn’t draw breath to speak, let alone formulate an answer. 

“It sears into flesh with all the destructive heat of the actual flames of Hell,” Aziraphale explained softly. “If it was _ left _ in contact with an angel’s flesh, it’d continue to burn where it touches, and. If left long enough, eventually… consume all.” Aziraphale focused on the blade, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “If it just… touches, and that’s all - even then, it’s sheer fiery agony. Leaves a permanent scar as well.” His eyes darted back to Gabriel’s, cold and predatory. “What do you suppose a  _ cut _ from this blade would do?” 

“Kill me,” Gabriel whispered, closing his eyes. “Please, Aziraphale…” His face heated with shame at the sheer desperation in his broken, trembling words. “Please don’t…” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, and then Gabriel felt his grip on his hair ease, his hand go soft. “I’ve no intention of killing you, Gabriel,” he said with an unexpected note of compassion. 

Gabriel opened his eyes, then froze when Aziraphale shifted the blade, turning it carefully in his hand so that the blunt spine of the blade was nearest his skin, instead - a bare inch from his throat. 

“No, unlike you did with me… I’m willing to give you a chance to repent.” 

“I do,” Gabriel insisted rapidly, desperately. “I do repent, Aziraphale. I’ll do it right this time. I’ll do as you’ve asked me, I swear…” 

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment, then gave a sympathetic little grimace and a sad shake of his head. “No, Gabriel,” he sighed. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough. Now, where to begin? What would send the clearest message? Provide you with the most appropriate reminder of the changes you should be making?” 

He glanced down between Gabriel’s legs, and Gabriel’s stomach plummeted, even before Azirpahale swiftly lowered the blade so that the wide, flat side of it hovered an inch above Gabriel’s exposed cock. 

“It appears that your  _ ego _ is still as ridiculously oversized as ever,” Aziraphale observed, quietly vicious. “Perhaps it would help you if I did something to remedy  _ that _ .” 

Gabriel automatically reached a hand down, compelled by instinct to try to protect himself, but then jerked it away, helplessly, just before it would have touched the blade. He reached toward Aziraphale’s hand next, as if to push the blade away - then immediately thought better of it when Aziraphale gave him an incredulous, challenging look, his fist clenching angrily around the handle. 

“Aziraphale,  _ no _ ,” he pleaded, hot tears springing to his eyes, blurring his vision, and he lifted his trembling hands in front of him, palms up in despairing surrender. “Please, I’ll do as you say. I’ll - I’ll do  _ anything _ you want,  _ please _ …” 

**************************************************************************************

_ Anything you want… _

Much of what Aziraphale had spent the past weeks wanting, he had in the image before him now - an image that was now locked into his mind. Gabriel, on his knees before him, naked and trembling, his eyes huge and filled with desperate tears as he  _ begged _ to do  _ whatever Aziraphale wanted…  _

And what he wanted was to bring another mental image to reality - the one that had taunted him every waking moment, ever since Crowley had come home and planted that image in his head. It was, for all intents and purposes,  _ Crowley’s idea, _ wasn’t it? How could he be angry with Aziraphale, when he was the one who’d  _ come up with it _ ? 

Aziraphale allowed the image to play through his mind, vaguely superimposed over the reality before him. Gabriel, even more vulnerable than he was right now, his face red with shame and streaked with tears, choking and struggling to accommodate Aziraphale with his tentative mouth, shy, violet eyes wide and staring up at him anxiously, to gauge whether or not he was pleasing Aziraphale enough to avoid devastating, painful punishment. 

There was certainly no  _ pride  _ in any of that. Only fear. Shame.  _ Submission _ . 

If he wanted Gabriel  _ humbled _ , well… it would certainly do the trick. 

And Aziraphale  _ did  _ want that. Fervently. 

It wasn’t about sex, so how could it be cheating? Aziraphale could not imagine anyone he was  _ less _ attracted to, in terms of personality, than Gabriel. And while, yes, his physical form  _ was _ quite beautiful, it wasn’t Gabriel’s body that he wanted, either. 

It was his  _ utter humiliation _ . 

He wanted to  _ break _ Gabriel, to bring him low. 

What he hoped to achieve from this was miles - _light-years_ away from what he found in his relationship with Crowley. This wouldn’t even be _sex_ at all \- not really. 

It would be…  _ subjugation _ . 

_ The defeated enemy king, kneeling under my table… _

Aziraphale’s jaw set as he decided. He’d tried it the gentle, patient way - and Gabriel had failed, as he’d expected. 

_ The lesson he’ll learn this week will be far more effective.  _

“Please,” Gabriel was still babbling out desperate, panicked words, his trembling hands still raised in surrender, his wide, terrified eyes locked onto the place near the floor where the flat of the blade was nearly in contact with his exposed, sensitive flesh. “I can do better. I’ll do better, Aziraphale, I will. Please let me try, please, anything, I’ll do anything you want…” 

“You don’t have the knowledge or ability to do what I want,” Aziraphale said softly. 

He rose to his feet carefully, trailing the blade up Gabriel’s chest as he moved, smiling as Gabriel’s huge eyes followed it up, up, up, until it stopped just under his chin, forcing his head up and back without actually touching him. He waited until Gabriel was looking him in the eye to conclude. 

“But then… you did say that you were…  _ willing to learn _ .” 

Gabriel blinked at him in confusion for a moment, before realization slowly dawned in his eyes. Then, he nodded hurriedly, as much as he dared with the tip of the blade so near to his throat. 

“Yes,” he agreed, eager, desperate. “Yes, I - I am willing. To learn that. I can learn, I can do what you want, Aziraphale, _ please _ …” 

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment, drawing out the waiting, before he snapped his fingers, and the blade disappeared. Gabriel’s shoulders fell with relief, and he let out a deep, shuddering breath, bracing himself with his hands on the floor, gasping. Aziraphale left him little time to recover, moving in close and cupping his face with both hands, gently lifting it up again to face him. Gabriel tensed, breath catching in his throat, eyes rolling toward Aziraphale’s fingertips, and Aziraphale smiled, aware that he was most likely dreading the hellfire he thought was at their command. He waited until Gabriel met his eyes to ask, soft and leading. 

“Would you like me to teach you?” 

“Yes,” Gabriel whispered, closing his eyes. “Yes, please.” 

Aziraphale kept his touch gentle, the backs of his fingers trailing down Gabriel’s cheek in a parody of a caress. “If you attempt to harm me, Gabriel,” he explained with the patient tone of a teacher, “to bite me… to overpower me… you’ll obviously fail. You’re aware of that, yes?” 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly. “Yes.” 

“And I’ll be quite perturbed with you, and your  _ continued defiance _ .” 

Gabriel flinched, shaking his head, lips parted, but Aziraphale went on before he could speak, his words a soft and measured warning. 

“And I’ll give you something  _ else _ on which to practice… until you get it right.” 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the dagger reappeared, this time not in his hand, but within easy reach on the surface of the desk. Gabriel’s wide eyes locked onto it with dawning horror, until Aziraphale turned his face back again, and he stared up at Aziraphale with dread. Aziraphale met his gaze with a soft smile. 

“I won’t,” Gabriel whispered. “I w-wouldn’t, Aziraphale. Please…” 

Aziraphale grimaced a little, looking up and away, thoughtful. “I do think that if we’re going to be… working together like this, in this capacity… if I’m going to be your…  _ instructor _ in the ways of morality and how to be a  _ better angel _ … then perhaps you ought to address me with more respect. Don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” Gabriel agreed, though his brow furrowed with confusion. “Yes, I - I mean…” He swallowed slowly, considering, then glanced up at Aziraphale, a question in his eyes, his expression uncertain and self-conscious as he whispered, “Yes… yes, sir?” 

Well,  _ that _ was just…  _ intoxicating _ . 

Aziraphale frowned slightly, pretending to weigh the sound of it, to consider. He tilted his head a little, thoughtful - then nodded with a little smile. 

“That’ll do nicely, for now.” 

He stood up straighter, and Gabriel steadied himself on his knees, glancing up into Aziraphale’s eyes again, biting his lip a little with uncertainty as he reached, hesitantly, for Aziraphale’s fly. 

Aziraphale sharply slapped his hands away, and Gabriel flinched, turning his head away and lowering his gaze. Aziraphale grabbed his jaw roughly in one hand, leaning down close. 

“You  _ do not _ touch me without permission.” 

Gabriel shook his head a little. “No, sir,” he choked out, gasping. “I’m sorry.” 

Pleased, Aziraphale’s expression softened, as did his hand on Gabriel’s face, patting his cheek lightly before reaching to unfasten his own trousers, and moving in close. 

His hands were gentle on Gabriel’s face, on the back of his head, carefully guiding his mouth into the right position, but not touching him anywhere else. No other touching was necessary. This was an act of submission, an acquiescence of defeat - not an act of sexual intimacy. 

Still, that first moment of contact held such intense satisfaction for Aziraphale - though not in the mere physicality of it, because really, Gabriel was, unsurprisingly, quite awkward and inexperienced. His technique was sloppy, and rushed in his near-panic. 

He clearly had  _ no idea _ what he was doing. 

But that didn’t matter, because it wasn’t  _ about _ skill or connection or physical pleasure at all. It was about the subjugation of the archangel to Aziraphale’s will: Gabriel’s eager desperation to please him… the shame that colored his face… the tears in his eyes when Aziraphale grasped his hair and jerked him roughly in closer, choking him. 

He did not touch Gabriel below his shoulders - except when Gabriel reached up trembling hands to steady himself on Aziraphale’s hips. Aziraphale grasped his wrists and firmly pushed his hands down. 

“This isn’t supposed to be easy for you, Gabriel,” he reminded him, as imperious as he could be while a bit breathless and undone. “It’s penance.” His jaw set with vindictive anticipation, as his fist clenched in Gabriel’s hair, yanking him in closer. “It’s  _ meant _ to hurt.” 

Gabriel’s choked, startled little whimper at the unexpectedly sharp pain drove Aziraphale over the edge. He held on tightly, not allowing Gabriel to pull away when he instinctively tried to, choking. 

“Swallow it,” Aziraphale ordered quietly. Gabriel resisted, glaring up at him indignantly, but Aziraphale met his gaze with a warning glare, tightening his grip on the back of his neck. “ _ Do it _ .” 

Gabriel’s defiance melted into fear, and only when he’d obeyed did Aziraphale let him go. The archangel knelt there, gasping, the back of his hand raised to his mouth. His head was bowed low, and he was shaking. Once he’d finished putting himself to rights, Aziraphale crouched down next to him. 

Gabriel tensed, staring at the floor between them. 

“Is that so vile and disgusting to you, Gabriel?” he questioned, softly derisive. “Why? Because you’re so far above me? Your corporation so much more  _ pure  _ and  _ holy _ ?”

Gabriel winced, shaking his head. “N-no,” he whispered. “It’s just… I-I haven’t… ever…” 

“You never consume anything. You’ve always found the very idea repulsive.” Gabriel hesitated, then nodded once. Aziraphale was quiet for a moment before persisting, “Is it  _ more _ repulsive to you… because it’s  _ me _ ?” 

It occurred to Aziraphale that there was a sort of perfect recompense in the fact that the first thing Gabriel had  _ ever  _ consumed, was  _ this _ . 

Gabriel drew in an unsteady breath, his body taut with fear. “No, it’s - it’s not,” he insisted, shaking his head. 

Aziraphale did not trust that answer for an instant. He kept his expression calm and controlled, even as he reached out to grasp Gabriel’s jaw and force his head up. 

“It’s a  _ mercy _ that I extend to you, Gabriel,” he stated severely. “This chance to redeem yourself… when I could just as easily destroy you as you thought to destroy me.” 

Gabriel swallowed hard, wincing with pain as he tried to nod against Aziraphale’s firm grip. 

“Yes, sir,” he choked out. 

After a moment, Aziraphale released him, instead trailing his fingers gently through his hair, not relenting when Gabriel shivered at the contact. He kept his voice soft, almost sympathetic. 

“How very far away your pride and arrogance must feel now. Yes?” 

Gabriel closed his eyes, nodding slowly. His shoulders fell a little and he let out a deep, shaky breath, almost as if  _ relieved _ , to have that feeling understood. 

“This is penance,” Aziraphale explained gently. “A lesson to you that you are no better than those you’ve treated as underlings. Your place is not to rule, but to serve.” He paused, allowing the words to sink in, pleased and gratified when Gabriel nodded slightly, wearily silent. “You were unable to throw off the trappings of your vanity for even a week - a  _ single week _ in the lives of beings like us, well - that’s nothing. And yet, you found it impossible. That’s how far you’ve fallen,  _ archangel _ .” He laced the word with a soft contempt that made Gabriel wince, though he kept his head bowed, his eyes lowered, and his mouth, silent. “How highly you’ve thought of yourself,” Aziraphale continued. “You can’t possibly take off  _ one tiny piece _ of your purposeless adornment. Why, if you did, the whole of Heaven’s complex hierarchy might simply  _ collapse _ !” 

He laughed, and Gabriel shook his head slowly, visibly ashamed. 

“You certainly require…  _ humbling, _ Gabriel,” Aziraphale declared with quiet certainty. “But the more you do this penance, and resist your prideful nature, the easier it will become for you to shed your vain appearance the rest of the time as well. Do you understand?” 

Gabriel nodded, unsteadily, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Yes, sir.” 

Aziraphale smiled, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction. 

But his lesson wasn’t  _ quite _ finished yet. 

He snapped his fingers, and the blade instantly shifted from the top of the desk, to his hand. 

Gabriel looked up sharply, his body going rigid. He shook his head a little. 

“No,” he whispered. “No, you said…” 

“Stop talking,” Aziraphale snapped. 

Gabriel bit his lip, stifling his protest, but staring at Aziraphale with silent accusation. 

Aziraphale grabbed the back of Gabriel’s neck, firmly enough to keep him still, and swiftly brought the spine of the blade down against Gabriel’s chest, in precisely the same spot where he’d placed the golden flame a few weeks earlier. Gabriel cried out in agony, and struggled to pull away. 

Thus far, the mere fear of what Aziraphale might do in retaliation to his resistance had been enough to prevent his resistance - a fact which kept Aziraphale’s control in a constantly precarious state. Aziraphale was acutely aware that all it would take was  _ one time _ in which Gabriel forgot himself, lost the careful self-control rooted in his sense of self-preservation… and realized that Aziraphale  _ really couldn’t  _ stop him. 

Aziraphale had some…  _ ideas _ as to how to prevent that from happening, but that would have to wait. 

For now, the blade in his hand was enough. 

He’d done his research, and knew that as long as the hellfire-infused weapon was in contact with Gabriel’s body, he’d be weakened, and unable to perform a miracle of escape or resistance or attack if he tried. 

Not that the pain allowed him anywhere near the focus he would need to try. 

It only lasted a second or two, anyway, before Aziraphale pulled the dagger away and returned it to the desk, then turned to examine the thin line it had left on Gabriel’s chest, only about an inch long, but deep and red and angry. Gabriel choked back an anguished sob, glaring up at Aziraphale with reproachful, wounded eyes. 

“You - you said…” 

“I said nothing,” Aziraphale snapped, hard and warning, and Gabriel flinched. “I decide what form your penance takes, and when.” He grasped Gabriel’s hair again and yanked him in close, his lips brushing his ear. “Be grateful,” he hissed. “I would have given you nineteen more just like it. Instead, I took mercy on you and granted your request. Accepted your offer. This one is just so you understand how bad it  _ could have been _ .”

Gabriel shuddered, swallowing. “Y-yes, sir,” he gasped out. “I’m sorry…” 

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment, glaring - then relenting with a single nod, letting him go. He drew in a breath, steadied himself. “Now, this week… you’re going to do as instructed. Aren’t you?” 

Gabriel nodded meekly. “Yes,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale knew that this time… he would. 

The haunted, fearful look in Gabriel’s eyes the next week as he knelt before Aziraphale, desperately pleading, swearing he’d done as he was told before Aziraphale could even ask - there was little question in Aziraphale’s mind as to Gabriel’s obedience. Aziraphale smiled, gently touching his hair, his face, and offering faint praise for his submission - and soft threats of what might happen if he failed to continue to behave himself. 

Three weeks passed, with little trace of resistance or defiance from the archangel. 

But none of that prevented Aziraphale from requiring Gabriel’s  _ penance _ again, every week. 

His obedience was only evidence that it was  _ working _ . 

He’d strip the kneeling archangel of his clothing, then order him to recite the sins for which he was offering penance before allowing him to try his best to please Aziraphale. He gave him quiet instruction, correcting him sharply when he made a mistake, such as allowing his eagerness to make him a bit too aggressive, or reaching out to touch Aziraphale with something besides his mouth. 

With each time, he made fewer and fewer mistakes. 

Gabriel’s reward for his good behavior was  _ not _ being burned with the hellfire blade again - and he was quietly, appropriately grateful. 

He was learning. 

Crowley continued visiting Anathema on a weekly basis. Anathema would call and say she’d gotten a new book she wanted him to review - but it was merely an excuse for them to get together and share copious quantities of alcohol while commiserating over their common annoyances, sharing details about their respective relationships, and just generally enjoying each other’s company. 

They jokingly referred to it as their “book club”. 

Aziraphale was free to enjoy his own weekly…  _ obligations _ , without the need to explain them to Crowley. He found himself more at ease, less distracted in his daily life. He was better able to restrict the majority of his thoughts about Gabriel and their arrangement to the time actually spent with him, and to focus on his shop again, his books, and most importantly -  _ Crowley _ . 

His desire for his demon was stronger than ever, and less infringed upon by unwelcome desires and temptations. 

After all… those temptations had a purposeful outlet, now. 

And things may have continued along those lines indefinitely, had Newton Pulsifer not come home early from work one evening in the middle of book club, intent on surprising Anathema and taking her out for an evening, sending her companion home early to his angel - and the rather ugly surprise waiting for him there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notice: more dub-con (this applies to entire story, actually, until it becomes outright non-con); also, infidelity :( 
> 
> Thanks so much, everyone who's reading and commenting on this story. I really feel like this story has kind of ... niche appeal, I guess? lol... but every lovely comment makes my day and is so encouraging to me to keep writing! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Love and appreciate y'all so much!!
> 
> *hugs*  
> DoS

Gabriel knew how to be obedient. 

As an archangel, he was more accustomed to  _ giving _ commands than to carrying them out; but he was an angel by nature, no matter his rank. While it was certainly possible for an angel to exercise their own free will and disobey - thousands of Fallen were evidence attesting to this fact - obedience seemed to be the hard-wired default. 

For the first time in his existence, Gabriel was beginning to learn for himself the cost of disobedience. 

He had been caught once, since Aziraphale had begun demanding these meetings - and once was all it had taken. Every day since, he’d obeyed Aziraphale’s command. He’d left his daily ensemble deliberately incomplete, despite the strange looks he got from Sandalphon, and others. He reported to Aziraphale’s bookshop, the same time every week, kneeling before him and doing everything that was asked of him. 

None of this seemed to be enough to protect him from Aziraphale’s severity, or the requirement of serving his penance - but he was getting used to that.

Gabriel frowned as he surveyed his own image, not with the confident approval he used to feel when he looked into the mirror, but rather with a sense of... dissatisfaction. 

He was getting used to  _ that _ , too. 

Idle thoughts passed through his mind as he prepared to leave Heaven - various possibilities as to how he might get out of this distressing situation in which he’d found himself. 

Physically attacking Aziraphale was obviously not an option; Aziraphale would burn him alive with hellfire before Gabriel could lift a hand against him. 

He could tell the other archangels what was happening, appeal to them for assistance - but he didn’t see what good that would do. None of them had any idea how to overpower Aziraphale either. And even if they did, the very thought of going to Michael, and Uriel, and Sandalphon… describing his interactions with Aziraphale… the things he’d allowed Aziraphale to do to him… made Gabriel’s skin prickle with heat, his stomach sick with shame. 

There was no way he could  _ ever _ tell them. 

_ Not that they’d risk themselves for me, anyway. They’re too scared of him, Aziraphale’s right about that.  _

_ They’re the ones that tossed me into that elevator in the first place.  _

He briefly considered, not for the first time, actually attempting to study it out, to see if there was an answer in a book somewhere - perhaps some other recorded instance of an angel possessing the strange powers Aziraphale had? But that idea was rather intimidating, for several reasons. 

Gabriel had only just discovered the  _ purpose _ of these particular material objects with which Aziraphale had always seemed to be so obsessed, a matter of weeks ago. He was completely unfamiliar with how they were to be used, having never had the need to research anything in his entire existence. It would certainly take him a long time to discover anything useful, if he was able to do so at all. 

And then, there was the rather terrifying possibility that, should he attempt such a venture, Aziraphale would somehow just…  _ know _ . 

He had somehow miraculously seen into Heaven and  _ just known _ that Gabriel had disobeyed his orders, hadn’t he? So, perhaps he could see other things Gabriel did as well. Aziraphale knew an awful lot about books; and Gabriel knew next to nothing about what other powers he might possess. What if he could somehow…  _ communicate _ with the books? See across the realms to precisely what Gabriel was trying to learn - trying to  _ plan _ ? 

Gabriel shuddered at the prospect of Aziraphale’s reaction to that level of defiance and deception. 

No. No, he would be keeping his  _ hands off _ any and all  _ books _ for the foreseeable future. 

_ You could just… not go.  _

The thought whispered through his mind nearly every time he left for the bookshop - but Gabriel knew it was a ridiculous notion. 

If he failed to show up, Aziraphale  _ would _ come after him. And would probably hurt other angels in the process, whether he needed to or not - just to prove his point. Despite his claim that he was doing all of this for Gabriel’s own good, Gabriel could clearly see the cruel pleasure in Aziraphale’s eyes whenever he hurt him, or scared him. 

When it came to Gabriel’s past behavior, and the punishment it merited, Gabriel had to admit - Aziraphale had a few valid points. But Gabriel knew that this was  _ not _ just about paying for his sins. 

Aziraphale _ liked _ hurting him. 

And once he’d burned his way through however many angels it took to get to Gabriel… he would drag him from the fragile illusion of safety he felt in Heaven, back to the dusty, dark backroom of the bookshop. 

And then… he  _ would _ hurt him. 

Gabriel didn’t want to  _ imagine _ the ways in which Aziraphale would hurt him. 

Gabriel sighed, straightening his collar one last time before snapping the mirror out of existence and opening his office door. He didn’t know why he bothered, every time, to mentally run through options that were  _ not _ options, at all. He already knew without question. 

He was going to go. 

When he entered the bookshop, Aziraphale was standing behind the counter, as he often was. He didn’t look up from whatever he was doing, busily shuffling some papers around, sorting through them with a slight, pensive frown creasing his brow.

Gabriel quietly walked past him into the backroom, where he knelt on the floor… and waited. 

It was a few minutes before Aziraphale finally joined him. He closed the door quietly before approaching, his footsteps slow and measured as he circled Gabriel once before stopping in front of him. 

“Why are you still dressed?” he demanded quietly. 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched. “I - I dressed as you told me. I always do…”

“ _ At all _ ,” Aziraphale clarified, impatient. “You know very well what your state is to be in this room.” 

Gabriel lowered his head, nodding. “Naked,” he answered softly, repeating words Aziraphale had used in past weeks to explain just why. “This room is the place where my sins are exposed.” He shivered a little, wrapping his arms around his chest, his face coloring with shame. “Nothing is to be kept hidden from you.” 

“Precisely,” Aziraphale agreed, his tone sharp and severe.

He snapped his fingers, and Gabriel’s clothing vanished. He shivered as Aziraphale trailed the tips of his fingers lightly over the bare skin of Gabriel’s shoulder, and then up the column of his throat, tilting his head up and back. Gabriel kept perfectly still, looking obediently up into his eyes, making no attempt to evade either Aziraphale’s touch or his gaze. 

“Next time upon entering this room, you will do it yourself without being told.” 

Gabriel nodded again. “Yes, sir.” 

“Name your sins, archangel.” 

Gabriel drew in a breath in preparation. “Pride,” he answered, by rote at this point. 

“I am prideful,” Aziraphale stated with severity. 

Gabriel looked up at him, confused. 

Aziraphale shrugged slightly, a single brow raised in challenge. “This is not just a generalized list that might apply to anyone, Gabriel. They’re  _ your  _ sins. Own up to them.” 

Gabriel took in the instruction, then sighed. “I am prideful,” he repeated with quiet resignation. “I am vain.” He hesitated a moment, considering with a frown. “I - I lied to you. Before.” 

Aziraphale nodded once in acknowledgement, pacing slowly in front of Gabriel. “Which makes you a…?” 

Gabriel felt the tug of resistance to what he knew Aziraphale wanted him to say - the certainty that this was deeply unfair. Surely one single instance was not enough to place that label on himself for the rest of eternity, was it? But Aziraphale had stopped pacing, and was glaring down at him, his mouth tightening as his patience began to swiftly, visibly evaporate. 

_ Of course it’s fair. You did it. You’re guilty. You  _ are  _ a… _

“Liar,” Gabriel said softly, his eyes focused on Aziraphale’s dusty old dress shoes. “I’m a liar.” 

It was the truth. 

Really, everything that Aziraphale required Gabriel to say of himself… was  _ true _ . In thousands of years, he’d rested secure in his status and standing, certain it was an indication of the Almighty’s approval of him, Her happiness with his performance - somehow oblivious to the sins that marred his soul. 

But… he  _ had done _ those things. 

It would be easier if he could believe that Aziraphale was wrong - that there was some weakness, some flaw in his argument - but every accusation hurled at Gabriel from Aziraphale’s lips was a scathing and accurate indictment. Every time he spoke the words himself, the shame that accompanied them felt a little sharper… his acknowledgement of his own failings, a little deeper. 

Aziraphale was right. Gabriel  _ was _ sinful. 

And sin  _ could not _ go unpunished. 

At least Gabriel was starting to get better at the actual mechanics of performing his required penance. He was beginning to learn the subtleties of not just what to do, but how to do it. How Aziraphale preferred for him to hold his mouth… to use his tongue. How to exhibit just the  _ correct _ amount of enthusiasm, enough to please Aziraphale, but not so much that he’d be slapped or yanked back or otherwise corrected for being too aggressive. 

He didn’t really understand how he could be thought to be aggressive, though, really, when he wasn’t allowed to touch Aziraphale with his hands at all. He knew better than to try by this point, even just to keep his balance. Aziraphale didn’t touch him, either, during these moments, other than to stroke his face or his hair in wordless encouragement… or to  _ snatch _ his hair and yank his head back, to  _ slap _ his face in severe correction, whenever he felt Gabriel wasn’t paying quite enough attention to some specific instruction. 

He was trying  _ so hard - sincerely trying _ to please Aziraphale; but despite his efforts, Aziraphale seemed more irritable every week. The slightest imperfection in Gabriel’s performance of his penance led to vicious threats… the hellfire blade taken from its place in the desk and held close enough to allow Gabriel to feel the searing heat rolling off the cursed metal. Aziraphale never touched him with it, not after that first time. 

He exhibited no such restraint with his hands. 

He’d run them over Gabriel’s bare skin as he spoke, his words soft, but tight and  _ barely _ controlled - like the hellfire at his fingertips, a whisper, a  _ breath _ away from consuming vulnerable flesh - until Gabriel couldn’t stop the desperate tears from falling down his face, couldn’t keep back the pleading words - useless, flailing words that tumbled over each other, spilling past his lips despite his helpless, panicked realization that, more often than not, his words only served to  _ piss Aziraphale off _ . 

Even when clearly furious with him, Aziraphale exhibited remarkable self-control. Despite his threats, his lethal hands never administered worse than a slap or a punch, or a tight fist tangled in Gabriel’s hair and jerking his head into whatever position Aziraphale happened to want it at the moment. 

“You’re testing my patience, archangel,” Aziraphale hissed in his ear. “You’re going to have to  _ try harder _ .” 

Gabriel  _ was _ trying - but the harder Gabriel tried, the  _ less _ pleased with him Aziraphale seemed to be. 

There was a sense of brimming, boiling  _ frustration _ in Aziraphale’s demeanor - even now, when Gabriel was doing his absolute best… even when there was no clear fault to be found in his behavior. 

As always, Gabriel tried to remember everything Aziraphale had taught him about how to please him… kept his hands dutifully folded behind his back in order to remember not to try to touch… intensified his efforts as he felt the tightening of Aziraphale’s flesh in his mouth - a signal that Aziraphale was nearly finished. He readied himself for the disgusting last few moments of his penance.

A reminder of the inherent impurity of his soul, as he was required to accept physical impurity into his body. 

He hated it no less with each instance it was required of him. 

But as always, he would do it. 

_ You’re not too good for this… not  _ above _ this. Who do you think you are? _

Abruptly, Aziraphale’s hands fell on his shoulders and shoved him away, sending him toppling backwards onto the floor, his penance incomplete. Gabriel had no idea what he’d done wrong, only that he must have made some mistake. He flinched, instinctively raising one hand in front of his face, expecting a slap. 

Instead, Aziraphale just moved swiftly past him, toward the door. 

“ _ Crowley _ …” His voice sounded stricken with horror. “Oh, Crowley, my darling… no, no don’t..” 

Gabriel looked up sharply, stunned. They’d never been interrupted before. He looked just in time to see an unmistakable expression of hurt on the demon’s face, tears in his golden serpent’s eyes, as he backed away from Aziraphale a few steps, then spun around and rushed out into the shop, out of sight. 

Aziraphale started to follow him - then rounded on Gabriel, swift and sudden, grasping a handful of his hair and yanking his head back. Gabriel froze, his heart racing as Aziraphale leaned in close, his voice low and warning.

“Do  _ not. Move _ .” 

Gabriel kept perfectly still in his grasp, closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to draw the breath required to form words at the moment. Apparently assured of his obedience, Aziraphale let him go with a rough shove, then rushed out after Crowley. Gabriel waited on his knees, trying to process everything that had just happened in the span of a few seconds. 

Well. That was  _ one _ question answered. 

He’d long suspected that Aziraphale’s relationship with the demon Crowley might have been of a physical or romantic nature, but he’d dismissed that idea at first as simply too disgusting, even for Aziraphale - to have carnal relations with a  _ demon _ . 

But, the more he’d thought over the events surrounding the failed Apocalypse, the more he’d found himself wondering. It was strange, that both Crowley  _ and  _ Aziraphale had been miraculously spared their fates of execution. Somehow, despite his Fallen state, the demon Crowley seemed to be as favored of the Almighty as Aziraphale. 

It seemed to be yet another issue on which Gabriel had been  _ monumentally wrong _ \- and Aziraphale was right. So, he’d reconsidered… and wondered… but not dared to ask. 

Now, there was no need. 

Aziraphale and Crowley were clearly in an… intimate relationship. 

At least, they had been… until the moment when the demon had walked through the backroom door. 

************************************************************************************

Aziraphale opened his eyes - and his whole world shifted on its axis. 

The  _ expression _ on Crowley’s  _ face _ , as he stood, frozen in the doorway - eyes wide and disbelieving, mouth first slack and stunned, and then trembling, as those beloved eyes began to brim with tears… 

It was enough to shatter Aziraphale’s heart. 

_ Should have locked the door, should have called and asked what time he’d be home, should have told him about all of this from the start, shouldn’t have let this happen,  _ how  _ could this _ happen? 

His mind raced, thoughts swirling together into a vortex of panicked disbelief. 

Everything had simply fallen into place so far, so smoothly and effortlessly, some part of Aziraphale’s mind had somehow believed that… this  _ couldn’t  _ happen. 

Faced with Crowley’s utter heartbreak, written all over his dear, expressive face - Aziraphale inwardly raged at himself for his failure to protect him. 

_ Should have  _ made sure  _ this couldn’t happen… couldn’t hurt him like this.  _

And then, Crowley was retreating, fleeing the room - fleeing  _ Aziraphale _ . 

“Crowley… Crowley, my darling,  _ please wait _ !” 

Crowley did not turn or look or even slow his pace as he stalked toward the front door of the shop. 

_ No, no, he can’t go, he has to listen, has to understand! _

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the door locked with an audible  _ click _ . 

Crowley froze in his tracks, staring - then turned slowly to face Aziraphale with an expression of cold, furious disbelief that left Aziraphale feeling small and guilty and scared. 

“ _ Really _ , angel?” 

Crowley’s voice was low, brimming with a deceptively quiet note of menace. Glaring at Aziraphale, he snapped his fingers, immediately undoing Aziraphale’s miracle and unlocking the door again. 

Aziraphale winced sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m  _ sorry _ , I just - I panicked,” he blurted out. “Please  _ don’t go _ , Crowley, please just let me  _ explain _ what you just saw…” 

“Pretty sure I  _ know _ what I just saw, angel,” Crowley snarled, eyes glittering with fury. “And I’ll never be able to bleach it from my brain as it is, so… really don’t need any more  _ detail  _ cast on the vivid mental image of you  _ cheating on me _ .” 

“It’s not cheating, Crowley, it’s not!” Aziraphale insisted, struggling to find the courage to continue under the force of the scathing, incredulous look Crowley gave him. “It’s not a - a  _ relationship _ , it’s just…” He lowered his voice and edged in closer to Crowley. “I had to find a way to keep him under control…”

“He  _ was  _ under control!” Crowley exploded, throwing his hands up in frustration. 

Aziraphale cringed, glancing anxiously toward the backroom door. He quickly snapped his fingers, sending a quick miracle in its direction. 

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “What did you just do?” 

“Soundproofing, that’s all,” Aziraphale explained. “I don’t want him to hear…”

“Oh,  _ bugger that _ ,” Crowley scoffed, storming past Aziraphale toward the backroom. “What’s he even still  _ doing _ here?” 

“Crowley - Crowley, wait!” Aziraphale pleaded, his anxiety swiftly evolving into panic as he followed Crowley through the doorway. 

Gabriel was kneeling where Aziraphale had left him - still naked, and waiting. 

“Get dressed and get out!” Crowley barked at him. 

Gabriel stared at him, uncertainty in his eyes, and did not move. 

“Go on, then, go!” Crowley insisted, waving his arms as if to shoo the archangel away. 

Gabriel looked to Aziraphale, worried and questioning. 

“Go,” Aziraphale instructed. 

Gabriel rose to his feet, his eyes darting warily between the two of them. 

Crowley let out a growl of frustration. “ _ Get out _ !” 

Gabriel swallowed, the unease in his gaze shifting into fear. “I…” he began, his voice very soft and cautious. “I mean… I need my…” 

Aziraphale impatiently snapped his fingers in his direction, and the clothes he’d worn into the shop returned to his body. Gabriel’s gaze was wide and searching, still traveling between the two of them as he took a hesitant step toward the door. 

“So, this is… over, then,” he guessed, carefully. 

Aziraphale wanted to strike him down. 

Crowley was  _ furious _ and  _ heartbroken _ , more devastated than Aziraphale had seen him in 6000 years. Just  _ maybe _ , if Aziraphale could find the perfect eloquent, heartfelt words and was  _ very _ lucky, he might be able to convince Crowley to remain in the bookshop long enough to hear him out. If that happened, there was an even slimmer chance that, when all had been said and heard… Crowley would  _ stay _ . 

And Gabriel’s eyes were alight with  _ hope _ . 

Aziraphale was quite possibly about to lose the love of his eternal existence - but to Gabriel, this was a potential escape. 

A potential  _ victory.  _ Over Aziraphale. 

“Damn right, it’s over,” Crowley declared, low and certain. 

But before he’d had time to register that Crowley was speaking at all, Aziraphale also answered, meeting Gabriel’s eyes with a cold, knowing smile. 

“You know better.” 

Gabriel’s face fell… the light extinguished from his eyes. As he nodded once in submissive acceptance, then turned to walk out, Aziraphale felt a rush of triumphant satisfaction. 

It lasted exactly as long as it took him to turn around, and take in the hurt, stricken expression on Crowley’s face. 

“Crowley,” he tried again, hushed and coaxing, now that they were alone. “Please, my love… please, just listen…”

“I’ve heard all I care to,” Crowley cut him off sharply, the words trembling with the tears that filled his eyes. 

Before Aziraphale could speak another word of protest, Crowley had snapped his fingers, and vanished. 

*************************************************************************

Crowley was sitting on Anathema’s front step when she and Newt arrived home from their evening out. He was a bottle and a half in, and drowning in tears. He was not, however, so utterly wrecked as to miss the fact that, judging by how close they were walking, how much they were touching, the beaming smiles on their faces before they noticed him, they’d had a wonderful, romantic sort of outing… and he was most  _ definitely _ intruding. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, lurching to his feet, stumbling dangerously as both he and the somewhat alarmed couple reached the edge of the porch. “I’ll go. Sorry.” 

“Wait… what’s wrong?” Anathema asked, stepping up and steadying him a little with both hands on his shoulders, her dark eyes wide and troubled. 

Crowley held her gaze for a long moment as he tried to answer, but all that came out was a hoarse, desolate sob. Bewildered and dismayed, Anathema wrapped her arms around him, and Crowley lowered his head onto her shoulder, weeping shamelessly. 

“You’d better come inside,” Newt sighed. “I’ll put the kettle on…” 

“Don’t want any bloody tea,” Crowley muttered, a fresh wave of fury washing over him as he thought of Aziraphale once more. 

“Coffee’d be better,” Anathema suggested, putting an arm around Crowley and ushering him into her kitchen. 

The horseshoe over the door stung a bit as he passed - but the pain Crowley was already in was too deep to allow him to notice. 

Newt started a pot of coffee brewing, then made himself scarce, leaving Crowley sitting across from Anathema at her tiny kitchen table, his trembling hands covered by both of hers as she leaned across it and tried to catch his gaze. 

“Crowley… what is it? What’s happened? Tell me.” 

With halting, tearful words, still hollow with shock, Crowley managed to tell his friend what he’d seen - the devastating betrayal that he’d come home to that evening. 

Anathema seemed nearly as stunned as Crowley had been. 

“I can’t believe this,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “How long have you two been together?” 

“Technically? About eighty years, but… there’s never been anyone else. In 6000 years, there’s never been anyone else.” Crowley’s desolate words fell away, and a sick horror fell over him, as he admitted softly, “Leastwise… ‘s far as I  _ know _ ...” 

He buried his face in his hands for a moment, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to maintain his composure. He’d only just stopped crying, and he didn’t fancy starting again - not just yet. There would be no shortage of tears in his near future, he was certain. He was sad, and tired, and tired of being sad. 

Anger was better. 

“I thought he  _ hated _ Gabriel!” he protested. “You don’t just randomly hook up with someone you’ve hated for millennia, then try to play it off to your - your bloody  _ life partner _ , like it’s  _ nothing _ ! That sort of thing doesn’t just  _ happen _ , and especially not with fucking  _ Gabriel _ ! I mean, last I checked, which was like,  _ three weeks _ ago, Gabriel’s never done anything with  _ anyone _ ! Until now, when all of a sudden he’s hooking up with  _ my angel _ , behind my back?” Crowley shook his head in disbelief and confusion. “Just trying to keep him under control?” he incredulously echoed the few words he’d allowed Aziraphale to get out before leaving the bookshop. “What the Heaven does that even  _ mean _ ? Keep him nice and distracted with some lovely free  _ cock-sucking lessons _ ?” 

Anathema suppressed a smile, but her eyes were sad. “I’m so sorry, Crowley,” she said. “If he’d do this to you, then… he doesn’t deserve you.” 

He knew the words were meant to be helpful and supportive - but Crowley could hardly process them. Like every other part of this nightmare of a night - they made no sense. His beautiful, perfect angel, who’d chosen to give his love and his life to one Fallen such as him? Crowley’d many times over been amazed at his incredible good fortune, to be loved by someone like Aziraphale. 

Undeserving? Unfaithful?  _ His angel _ ? 

He couldn’t believe this was happening. 

An abrupt, urgent knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Crowley looked up at Anathema with apprehension at the sound. He knew who had knocked, even before Aziraphale’s tearful, anxious voice called through the door. 

“Crowley? Crowley, are you there?”

Crowley was silent, holding Anathema’s gaze. She held up a hand, shaking her head a little. 

“You don’t have to talk to him,” she whispered. 

Crowley looked down at the table, swallowing hard. He didn’t want to talk to Aziraphale. 

Except that… he  _ did _ , a little. 

“Please, I know you’re there, darling. Please let me in. Please just talk to me.” 

“ _ How _ ?” Crowley hissed, frustrated, his hand clenching into a fist and raised over the table… but then coming down too softly to make a sound. “How does he even know I’m here?” 

His thoughts went briefly to the tracking magic Aziraphale had used against Gabriel, to know when he was on Earth. He wasn’t sure which idea made him sicker - the idea that Aziraphale might have wanted that information for far different reasons than he’d let on - or the idea that Aziraphale might have used similar magic to find him here. 

But Crowley quickly dismissed that idea. There hadn’t been enough time. No, Aziraphale just knew him better than anyone else, and had made a good guess, that was all. It wasn’t as if Crowley had so many  _ other _ friends he might have run to. 

“Crowley…  _ please _ .” Aziraphale’s voice was filled with aching desperation. “After 6000 years… a few moments… a few words… you owe me that, at least.” 

“ _ Excuse _ me?” Anathema stood up, glaring at the door in indignation for a moment before meeting Crowley’s eyes and pointing angrily toward it. “You owe him  _ nothing _ , Crowley. That’s not how relationships work. He blew yours up when he  _ cheated on you _ .” 

“ _ Crowley _ . My love, my darling.  _ Please _ .” 

Crowley considered for a moment, his heart aching, fresh tears filling his eyes at the softness of love and regret in the angel’s voice. He looked up at Anathema, worrying at his lip for a moment before venturing, halting and reluctant. 

“He’s right, though. I’m 6000 years invested here, yeah? Worth a listen, at least.” He glared at the door for a moment, releasing a heavy sigh. “What’s a couple hours more?” 

“You don’t have to,” Anathema repeated, visibly upset. “I can tell him to get lost.” 

Crowley was quiet for a moment, then shook his head slowly. “No.” 

Anathema regarded him for a moment in frustrated indecision, before she sighed and headed for the door. She opened it, then stepped back and crossed her arms, glaring at the tear-streaked, penitent face of the angel on the step. 

“This had better be good,” she declared. 

But before she could allow Aziraphale entrance, Crowley had reached her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. She looked up at him in surprise, and he gave her a sad smile as he slipped past her to join Aziraphale on the step. 

“I think… we’ve got a lot to discuss, and… we’d best talk alone.” 

Anathema’s expression made it quite clear she strongly disagreed with his choice - but it  _ was _ his choice, and she knew it. Her shoulders fell in defeat, and she nodded and sighed. 

“Call me later.” 

“I will, love,” Crowley promised with a warm, reassuring smile. “Thank you.” 

His smile vanished as he turned to face Aziraphale, who was nevertheless beaming up at him through tears. 

“Thank you, oh, thank you, Crowley. Please, I  _ know _ I can make you understand, just… please, let’s just go home…”

Crowley wasn’t quite sure it was home at all, anymore. 

Even as they walked through the door, it didn’t feel like the same place. Something fundamental had been changed -  _ damaged _ \- and Crowley was not sure it could ever be put right again. 

But the idea of just… walking through this door again. Never  _ speaking to Aziraphale _ again, just - letting go of everything they had, all their many years of shared experiences and love and just  _ knowing  _ each other like no one else ever had or would or  _ could _ … 

The thought alone was… unbearable. 

_ I’ll listen,  _ Crowley told himself.  _ Might want to walk away once I have done. But first… I’ll listen. _

_ Maybe. _

“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of Aziraphale’s mouth, once they were seated together on the sofa in the upstairs flat. “My darling, you must know, I’m  _ so sorry _ . I - didn’t mean to let this happen.” 

“ _ Doesn’t  _ just ‘happen’,” Crowley muttered, glaring up at Aziraphale for a moment. “You made a choice.” 

“I did,” Aziraphale confessed softly, eyes downcast. “A poor one. But I - never meant for you to find out this way. I - was going to tell you…” 

Crowley drew back in shocked indignation, shaking his head. “When  _ exactly _ were you going to tell me that you were  _ shagging someone else behind my back _ ?” 

“That’s…  _ not  _ what this is,” Aziraphale insisted, looking up to meet Crowley’s gaze, surprisingly calm and level. “Crowley, may I - may I just explain to you? And… if you hate me after, then so be it, but… I just want to tell you the truth.” 

Crowley didn’t answer. He couldn’t form words past the knot in his throat. It was all he could do not to break down completely in that moment. 

He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to be told the truth. 

He remained silent and braced himself for the pain; he  _ had to know _ . 

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath, visibly steadying himself, before he began to speak. “When you told me… how things went, when you were in Heaven… how Gabriel…  _ responded _ , to you, I was… fascinated.” 

The whole thing - the way Aziraphale had wanted to hear the story repeated again and again - it all took on a completely different, utterly sickening light based on what Crowley had seen. 

He cast a resentful glare on Aziraphale. “I remember.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t quite conceal a flinch, but he went on. “I found it… difficult to imagine. If you  _ knew _ him, Crowley,” he pleaded softly. “If you’d seen… the way he’s treated me, the way he treats everyone… then you’d understand. The very  _ idea _ of him, being… thrown off balance a bit, that arrogance gone…  _ actually afraid _ of someone, well… I couldn’t get it out of my head. Had to see for myself.” 

“And you did,” Crowley reminded him, making no effort to keep the accusing edge from his words. “You said you… got what you needed.” 

“I thought I did,” Aziraphale admitted, “but… after that first time, in… in the dressing room, I - I couldn’t stop thinking about…”

“The archangel Gabriel, on his knees, sucking your cock?” Crowley snapped, angrily swiping at the tears in his eyes. 

“The archangel Gabriel…  _ on his knees _ .” There was a soft, dark intensity to Aziraphale’s words - a frightening sort of hush, as he looked up again to meet Crowley’s eyes. “ _ Full stop _ .” 

All at once, Crowley  _ did _ understand - but the revelation was in no way reassuring. He understood now why Aziraphale would say that this wasn’t what Crowley thought it was. It wasn’t that Aziraphale  _ wanted _ Gabriel at all, really - at least, not in the same way he wanted Crowley. 

What he wanted was to humiliate Gabriel. Dominate him. Conquer him. 

“I… made him kneel,” Aziraphale said with the hushed, guilty tone of a confession. “Threatened him with the dagger you gave me.” 

Crowley winced a little, eyeing Aziraphale guardedly, but there appeared to be no accusation in the angel’s oddly guileless expression. 

“It was… quite effective,” Aziraphale remarked calmly. “He was very much afraid.” 

“So next, you decided you’d make him  _ suck you off _ ?” A cold, creeping sensation of horror wound its way up Crowley’s spine. “Angel, that’s - you  _ know _ what this is! It’s…” 

“No, no, I didn’t!” Aziraphale hurried to explain, alarmed. “No, that was…” He grimaced a little, meeting Crowley’s eyes. “...  _ his _ idea.” 

“Like Heaven it was!” Crowley protested, disbelieving. “He’d never - didn’t even know _ how _ !” 

“Yes, well…” Aziraphale gave Crowley a look of chagrin. “... it seems someone placed the idea in his head, recently.” 

A defensive anger welled up within Crowley, a sense of indignation - but with it, a sick feeling of shamed uncertainty. 

“So, this is  _ my _ fault then,” he snapped. “I see.” He shook his head, turning away from Aziraphale, and muttering, “Bloody brilliant.” 

“ _ Crowley _ .” Aziraphale’s voice was firm and almost severe. Grudgingly, Crowley met his eyes again. Aziraphale held his gaze, his voice quiet and certain. “The last person who bears any responsibility for my mistakes in this is you, my love.” 

Crowley remained quiet, watching and waiting as Aziraphale took a breath in preparation to explain. 

“I… threatened him with the blade, but… could hardly take it any farther than that. Honestly, I was… really sort of… wondering what to do next,” he admitted sheepishly. “And then, he just…  _ offered _ . Was frightened of the blade, and I - suppose he found this a - a preferable option. And, as I could not very well  _ actually use _ a  _ lethal hellfire blade _ against him without, you know…  _ killing _ him… I just… didn’t know what to say.” He sighed sadly. 

Crowley let out a harsh laugh. “No thank you?” he suggested with a bitter smile. 

Aziraphale flinched, eyes downcast with regret. “I felt I had to do  _ something _ ,” he said quietly. “Once I’d gone that far… to then back down without laying a hand on him, or… or punishing him in any way, seemed… anti-climactic.” 

Crowley scoffed. “Can’t have that, can we?” 

His angel had always had a flair for the dramatic - a love for a good story - and Crowley had always appreciated that side to his personality. 

At the moment… not so much. 

“Well, if all I  _ ever _ do is threaten, he’ll get suspicious,” Aziraphale pointed out, pleading. “I felt as if there was nothing else I could do to him, under the circumstances.” He was quiet for a moment, before venturing, “Perhaps if I had… other options?” 

“Why do you have to  _ ever _ do  _ anything _ ?” Crowley snapped. “Just… walk away, leave him be. You have the  _ option _ to  _ just stop _ .” 

Aziraphale was quiet. “I’m… not sure I do.” 

Crowley eyed him, anger and suspicion rising up within him. With an effort, he kept his words measured and reasonably calm, a tight, clipped smile on his lips. “What the Heaven is  _ that _ supposed to mean?” 

Aziraphale took a moment, gathering his thoughts, the fingers of his primly folded hands fidgeting anxiously in front of him. “I know that I… shouldn’t have ever started this. I should have left things alone… walked away, after that day at the clothing shop. But…” He drew in a deep breath. “... I didn’t. And now I’ve let it go too far. I know that. But… now that I  _ have _ …”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, regret etched into the lines of his face as he explained, “Right now, he’s afraid of me. Too afraid to say anything to Heaven about… any of this. And I have to keep it that way. Have to keep him under control.” 

“He  _ was _ under control!” Crowley protested, frustrated. “I  _ put _ him there!” 

“I know you did, and I should have left well enough alone,” Aziraphale conceded. “But now… if he goes back to Heaven and tells them about… all of this, Crowley, well… then they’ll come after us again, I’m sure of it. I have to - to keep him too afraid to do that. To keep him…”

“So firmly under your thumb he wouldn’t dare,” Crowley concluded with a sigh. 

“I  _ could _ … tell him not to come back,” Aziraphale offered, but there was something guarded and warning in his tone. “But now that it’s gone as far as it has… a bit of distance… a bit of time…” 

Crowley’s heart sank, as he understood. “And he gets less scared, more pissed off, spills everything, and we’re under attack again. Only Heaven’s about a hundred times as outraged this time.” 

Aziraphale sighed heavily, mingled guilt and relief in his voice. “Precisely.” 

“So you’ve gotta keep him around… keep your finger on the pulse, so to speak. Make sure that doesn’t happen.” Crowley ran his palm down over his face, before resting his head in his hand, concluding wearily, “Gotta keep right on… scaring the shit out of him.” 

Aziraphale winced. “To put it… rather indelicately, yes.” 

“ _ Indelicate _ ?” Crowley snapped in disbelief. “Indelicate as you enjoying your weekly blow job from trumpet boy?” 

“I wouldn’t even say that I’ve  _ enjoyed _ it, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, sad, imploring. 

“Bullshit.” Crowley was having none of it. “I’ve a bit more knowledge about these things than your most recent partner,” he snapped, “and I happen to know that it wouldn’t exactly work at all, if you weren’t enjoying it  _ at least a little _ , now, would it?” 

Aziraphale shook his head, tears in his eyes, visibly ashamed. “It was wrong, Crowley, I know that. But you must believe me when I tell you that he means  _ nothing _ to me! I’m not in love with him. This isn’t… an _ affair _ . I don’t  _ want _ him, I only want…” Aziraphale struggled to find the words, closing his eyes for a moment. “The only… pleasure I derive from this comes from… from…”

“Hurting him,” Crowley concluded, dark and knowing. “Humiliating him.” A cold, creeping feeling settled in his gut, coiled around his stomach. “That supposed to make me feel  _ better  _ about this, angel?” 

“Maybe.” Aziraphale’s voice was small and doubtful. “A little.” 

Crowley shook his head slowly, then looked away - utterly overwhelmed. 

“How many times?” he asked at last, not sure he wanted to know the answer. 

Aziraphale hesitated. “I’ve had him… meeting me here, once weekly.” 

The realization was like a slap in the face. 

“Book club.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale admitted quietly. 

Crowley felt a fresh sense of betrayal, as if he’d been tricked somehow, despite the fact that the book club had been wholly his own idea; Aziraphale had had nothing to do with it. But he  _ had _ encouraged Crowley to keep going back to Anathema’s, week after week. He’d seemed so genuinely happy for Crowley, so very pleased that Crowley had found a new friend with whom to occupy his time. 

Now, Crowley knew why. 

“And he just…  _ agreed _ to come here every week.” Crowley said, flat and dubious. “Last I was aware, he was so bloody terrified of you, pretty sure he never wanted to see you again.” 

“I’d say that’s still an… accurate assessment,” Aziraphale said cautiously. “He’s quite frightened of what might happen if he were to decline my… invitation.” 

Crowley frowned. “Invitation to what? You said… he offered, to avoid… what, exactly? Why does  _ he _ think he’s coming here, angel?” 

Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley, anxious and fretful, before looking away again. His expression was more vulnerable and self-conscious than any he’d borne throughout the entire conversation. His voice was hushed and small as he stared down at his trembling hands and confessed softly. 

“I…  _ may _ have told him that he’s a - a dirty, sinful, poor excuse for an archangel, and I’m… trying to help him…  _ be better _ .” 

All at once, a fresh clarity of understanding came over Crowley, and suddenly, his heart  _ ached  _ for his angel. He remembered the things Aziraphale had told him, countless times over the millennia - things that Gabriel and others in Heaven had said to him. Ways in which they’d made him feel like a useless failure, again and again. Cruel reprimands, delivered “for his own good” and to “help him become a better angel”. 

He swallowed slowly, vaguely irritated with himself for allowing the rising sense of sorrow and compassion he felt to emerge, swelling to breach the surface of his overwhelming anger and hurt. He let out a soft sigh, reaching out to touch Aziraphale’s folded, trembling hands, stilling them. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and controlled.

“Bit on the nose, yeah?” 

Aziraphale released a shaky sigh, nodding. “I know,” he admitted, dejected and ashamed, looking up at Crowley with pleading desperation in his eyes. “As many times as I was made to… kiss his ring, metaphorically speaking… I won’t deny there’s an intense satisfaction in seeing him on his knees. Desperate. Afraid. But Crowley… it’s… it’s become more than that. It’s actually - well, I think it’s working. He’s  _ changing _ .” 

“Due to the purifying power of your magic cock?” Crowley countered, unable to keep the sharp, bitter tinge from his words as he instinctively withdrew his hand from Aziraphale’s and retreated, shifting a bit away from him on the sofa. 

Aziraphale flinched a little, but looked thoughtful, as if choosing his words carefully. “Due to… consistent, ritualized subjugation of his pride. Each time, I - I ask him to recite his sins. And he does so, and then… then, he bears the shame of those sins in a physical manner.” 

As much as Crowley was beginning to understand what had brought Aziraphale to this point, he was still utterly unwilling to allow Aziraphale to elevate what he was doing to some sort of lofty, spiritual mission, and forget all about the baser nature of his actions. 

“Sucks you off,” he translated helpfully. 

“Is… physically abased,” Aziraphale amended, thoughtful and solemn. “At the feet of one he’s long believed to be his inferior. And Crowley… his confessions, each time… he seems a little more sincere. More genuine. I believe that he is  _ truly changing _ , and… and if…” 

Crowley sighed, lowering his head into his hands as he realized what Aziraphale was getting at, and how truly fucked they both were. 

“If you let him go and stop what you’re doing, he’ll go right back to being the same smug, insufferable asshole who wanted to roast you alive for funsies. Only he’ll want it  _ more _ , and for  _ revenge _ , which is  _ much worse, fuck it all to Heaven _ , angel, what have you  _ done _ ?” 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale repeated, plaintive and trembling. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I’ve rather made a mess of things, I just… don’t know if there’s an immediate way out of it all.” 

Tentatively, hesitating, Aziraphale reached out a careful hand to touch Crowley’s where it rested on his knee. 

Crowley did not jerk it away… though it was, for a moment, a near thing. 

And, in spite of himself, he felt the stirrings of a sense of  _ relief _ . 

At least he  _ knew _ , now. What Aziraphale had been keeping from him was now out in the open. The truth was … well, it was bloody awful, no question. But it was  _ out _ , now, and they could begin to find a way through it. Somehow. As angry as Crowley was with Aziraphale… he still could not bear the thought of losing him. 

And now, it seemed as if,  _ just maybe _ … that wasn’t going to happen. 

_ But… only if… _

“I want you to stop.” Crowley’s words were firm, emphatic, as he met Aziraphale’s eyes. 

Aziraphale nodded. “I understand. Of course, I will. It’s just… when Gabriel offered, I did feel that it was perhaps a… more  _ humane  _ option?” he explained with a rueful little grimace. “That blade is  _ very _ painful. I tested it on myself, before I could consider using it on Gabriel.” 

Crowley stared at him in horror. “You  _ what _ ?” He grabbed Aziraphale’s arm none too gently, lifting it and pushing at his sleeve, looking for marks, his heart racing with panic. 

If he was going to lose his angel after all, after all this…

“You didn’t  _ cut yourself _ …?” 

“No, no, of course not,” Aziraphale assured him, rolling up his sleeve to show Crowley a thin, deep red line on the inside of his forearm. “Just used the flat side, that’s all. I just… couldn’t see doing it to someone else without… knowing what it felt like.” 

Crowley felt a rush of relief at those soft words. 

_ That  _ sounded more like his angel. 

Still… the new and agonizing knowledge of what Aziraphale had  _ done _ filled Crowley’s thoughts, his heart aching and mind swirling with confusion between the love and concern he held for his angel, and the sense of anger and hurt and betrayal that warred with those feelings. Crowley continued holding onto his angel’s arm, unwilling to sever contact, despite the resentment in his tearful voice. 

“No such caution, though, when it came to letting him suck you off,” he remarked bitterly, glaring at Aziraphale. “Careful. He might just fall in love with you.” 

Aziraphale was quiet, studying Crowley’s face with worried eyes. “You are, still.” His voice was hushed, soft with pleading desperation. “In love with me.” 

“Of course I am, you daft idiot,” Crowley grumbled, tears welling in his eyes, obscuring his vision. “I’m still pissed as Heaven with you, but… just… don’t want you doing it again, yeah?” 

He was uncomfortably aware that despite his profuse apologies and tender words and looks and touches… Aziraphale had yet to make such a promise. 

His response now was no less unsettling. 

Aziraphale frowned, troubled. “I don’t wish to use the hellfire dagger on him,” he stated, hesitant. “It’s too dangerous. One slip of the blade, and he’d be dead, and - I don’t want that. No matter what he’s done.” He sighed. “I need a means of… enforcing my authority. Perhaps if I had some… less lethal options?”

Crowley thought about it for a moment, nodding slowly as he looked away. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then, he considered Aziraphale’s choice of words more closely. He eyed his angel suspiciously. “And… you  _ will stop _ .” 

Aziraphale held his gaze, calm and steady, but a little guarded. “The  _ very moment _ that I can.” 

Crowley’s stomach lurched. “Once you have… other options,” he concluded warily. 

Aziraphale nodded once. “I can’t leave him room to wonder if I’m… going soft, or - or am not really the threat I’ve been presented to be.” 

Crowley jerked his hand away from Aziraphale, a sharp ache settling in his chest. 

“I hate you,” he whispered, blinking away traitorous tears that flowed down his face, betraying the depth of his hurt at Aziraphale’s response.

He wasn’t going to stop. Not until he was blessed good and ready. 

“No, you don’t.” 

Aziraphale desperately reached for his hand again, but Crowley pulled it away, resistant as Aziraphale gripped his shoulders and tried to prevent his retreat - even if it was only across the sofa. Holding onto Crowley, Aziraphale left the sofa to kneel in front of him, touching his face, seeking eye contact. 

“No, you don’t,” he repeated, “please, my love…”

“I do.” Crowley insisted, but he was crying again, and he knew as well as Aziraphale - he wouldn’t be, if it was true. “I hate  _ this _ . Hate that you’re doing this. Hate that you’re…  _ with him _ , when…”

“I’m  _ not _ with him,” Aziraphale insisted, taking one of Crowley’s hands in both of his. “I’m not. I just wish you could…” He hesitated, closing his eyes tight, and whispering, “... wish you… could see…”

Crowley looked up at him sharply, a single brow raised, incredulous through his tears. 

Aziraphale bit his lip with a worried frown, as if well aware that he should simply  _ stop talking  _ \- but Crowley recognized that stubborn glint in his eyes, knew that Aziraphale was already stuck on whatever idea was forming in his mind, and wasn’t going to let it go until he’d given voice to it. 

“If you could just… see for yourself,” he suggested, slow and cautious. “It’s not… not personal, not…  _ intimate _ . Not  _ what we have _ . I don’t even permit him to  _ touch _ me, except… what is necessary to prove his submission. And I don’t touch him, either. Crowley, if you could… perhaps just this next week… come, and…  _ observe _ …” 

The realization of exactly what Aziraphale was suggesting filled Crowley with a sense of shocked, horrified revulsion. He stared up at his angel, disbelieving. Confused. 

So very, deeply  _ hurt _ . 

He tried again to pull away from Aziraphale’s hand, wrapped tight around his, but Aziraphale held on, searching his face, too blinded by his own desires to  _ see _ that Crowley wanted  _ no part  _ of what Aziraphale had done… what he was still  _ going to do _ , no matter how badly Crowley had been hurt by it. 

No matter how it had  _ crushed _ Crowley to see it the first time - and now, he wanted Crowley to…  _ observe _ ? 

Aziraphale had the utter  _ gall _ to look  _ hopeful, _ optimistically questioning as he held Crowley’s stunned, horrified gaze - and held his hand even tighter, despite the tears spilling down Crowley’s face, despite Crowley’s overwhelming desire to escape. 

That was all right. 

Crowley only needed  _ one _ hand, anyway. 

“Fuck you,” he sobbed out, taking in Aziraphale’s startled, dismayed flinch for just a moment before snapping his fingers and leaving the bookshop. 

Aziraphale either didn’t try to follow him, or didn’t know where to look for him at all - likely the latter, as Crowley himself wasn’t quite sure  _ where _ he’d gone. He hadn’t really had a specific destination in mind when he’d left, so long as it was  _ anywhere but there _ . 

In some unnamed city, in some unnamed place, Crowley wandered, in search of the nearest establishment where he could find enough alcohol to obliterate the pain, until it didn’t matter anymore. Didn’t matter how Aziraphale had hurt and betrayed him. Didn’t matter that he was being deliberately blind to Crowley’s wishes, refusing to respect them. 

None of it mattered, really, Crowley knew, with a sinking pit of despairing resignation gaping in his chest. 

Crowley had loved Aziraphale for 6000 years - and he wasn’t sure he knew  _ how _ to stop now. 

Perhaps Aziraphale hadn’t come looking for him because he wasn’t really all that worried. It was a certainty, after all, no matter what had happened between them. 

They both knew - Crowley would be back before dawn. 

**************************************************************************************

Gabriel had no idea what to expect when he returned to the bookshop the following week. He had no way of knowing exactly what had happened between Aziraphale and Crowley after he’d left, but to all appearances, it had seemed that Aziraphale and his demon lover were on the verge of a monumental argument. 

Gabriel figured that it was quite possible he would arrive at the bookshop to find that Aziraphale wouldn’t want him there at all. Of course, he knew better than to simply  _ not show up _ \- but he was optimistic.

This was very likely to be the  _ last _ time. 

When Gabriel entered the bookshop, he found Aziraphale standing behind the counter, where he often was. But this time, Crowley was there too, standing a bit apart from him, arms crossed, apparently quite unhappy about something. 

Gabriel would have been willing to hazard a guess. 

He quietly closed the door behind him, then focused his attention on Aziraphale, waiting for some signal as to his expectations. After a moment, Aziraphale looked up - and Gabriel’s stomach dropped. 

There was something different in his eyes today, something… predatory. A cruel light over the barest hint of a mocking smile, as he raised his eyebrows expectantly and nodded toward the backroom. 

Gabriel swallowed, his mouth dry, a tight ache forming in his chest. 

_ Really? This is still… actually happening?  _

He obeyed the wordless command as if on auto-pilot, moving past the front counter and into the backroom, his mind racing, desperately trying to figure out what had happened - and to somehow predict what was about to happen. 

Had Aziraphale  _ actually managed _ to talk Crowley into somehow being  _ okay _ with this? 

Despite the abrupt ending to their session last week… despite his rising unease… Gabriel remembered the instructions Aziraphale had given him the week before. He didn’t want to risk drawing Heaven’s attention to the fact that he was here by performing a miracle, so he carefully, methodically removed his clothing, folding them and laying them in a neat stack on the top of the desk. 

Without turning, he was aware of the slight chill draft from the doorway as Aziraphale entered the room. 

Gabriel lowered his eyes and turned to face Aziraphale, going swiftly and smoothly to his knees before looking up. 

He froze, stunned to see Crowley, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed defensively over his chest. There was a cold, bitter light in his eyes over a brittle smile, as he watched expectantly. 

“ _ Gabriel _ .” 

Aziraphale’s sharp, severe tone dragged his focus away from the demon. 

Gabriel looked back to him, immediately obedient. “Yes, sir.” 

“You will focus your attention on your confession, as usual.” 

Gabriel nodded, lowering his gaze. “Yes, sir.” But he couldn’t quite resist glancing back up at Crowley. 

The demon gave him a cold smile that sent a shiver down his spine. 

“Oh, don’t mind me.” Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “Just… pretend I don’t exist. Seems that’s what’s been going on around here regularly, anyway.” 

A look of dismay passed over Aziraphale’s face, and his entire demeanor shifted. It was an instantaneous, impossible, almost  _ magical _ transformation. As Aziraphale turned to focus on Crowley, everything about him seemed to soften, his voice taking on a tender, pleading tone. 

“Crowley, my dear…” 

“All right, all right, angel,” Crowley sighed, looking down at the floor, his shoulders falling with defeat. When he looked up again, the hostility in his expression was, if not  _ gone, _ then… at least  _ veiled _ , for the moment. “I’m here, aren’t I?” Crowley said quietly. “So… proceed.” He waved a magnanimous hand in a vague gesture. “Show me just exactly what you wanted so badly for me to  _ observe _ .” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of dark Crowley in this one, too - though nowhere NEAR as dark as Aziraphale. 
> 
> He'll see the error of his ways in time, y'all. Promise. Don't hate him. 
> 
> Or me. ;)

Crowley stood just inside the door of the backroom - as far away as he could possibly be while still being  _ in the room _ \- with  _ no earthly idea _ of how he’d ended up there. 

He’d returned home the same night he’d left - drunk and raging and weeping and swearing on anything he knew worth swearing on that this  _ would not  _ happen. There was no way in Heaven or Hell or anyplace between that he’d ever simply stand by and  _ watch _ while Aziraphale let some other being put their hands, their  _ mouth _ on him. 

_ Never _ . 

He’d  _ kill  _ Gabriel first, and Aziraphale, and  _ himself _ , too, he  _ would _ ! 

The soft, sadly knowing expression on Aziraphale’s face had been  _ infuriating _ , because it was clear, the angel knew that Crowley was drunk and emotional and didn’t mean a bloody word of it - had never killed anything or anyone, and likely never would - least in all the world, his angel. Aziraphale always seemed to know exactly the right words… just the perfect gentle touch… to calm Crowley when he was spinning off the rails with panic or fury or pain. 

In this case, Aziraphale was at a disadvantage, indeed - because he was nearly never the  _ cause _ of Crowley’s distress. 

“I love you more than life,” Aziraphale began, soft and earnest and close, bright blue eyes shining up into Crowley’s, and he couldn’t have got off to a better start, the  _ bastard _ . 

When he reached to take both Crowley’s hands in his, Crowley allowed it, though his own hands were trembling and tears welled in his eyes. He wanted to shove Aziraphale away from him and walk out the door for good. He wanted to fall into his angel’s arms and be held and reassured that all could be as it once was between them - just a few short hours earlier. 

He desperately tried to  _ believe _ that lie… or at least, pretend that he did. 

“I’m only asking you to do this because I’d keep  _ nothing _ from you, Crowley. I want you to understand and to be  _ aware _ . I want you kept in the dark about nothing. I want you to see and know me, every part. Even the darkness.” He was quiet for a moment, lowering his gaze to their joined hands on Crowley’s knees. “We all have it. And… if mine is too deep and too shameful for you to tolerate, then so be it. But I won’t have secrets from you, my love. Not anymore.” 

Then he’d raised those adoring blue eyes, pleading, searching Crowley’s gaze. 

Actually, Crowley had to take it back. He knew  _ exactly _ how he’d ended up here. 

He loved his angel more than life, too. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. 

He’d never been more aware of that unsettling certainty than he was right now, standing in the doorway of this room that had been stacked from floor to ceiling with old books and papers last he’d seen it, but was now empty of all but an imposing wooden desk - and the trembling archangel who knelt, naked, before Aziraphale, looking up at him in fearful attention, hanging on his every word and calling him “sir”. 

The first thing Crowley realized, with a sinking heart and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach - they’d developed a routine. In distinctly different but equally disturbing ways, the archangel and  _ his _ angel each seemed to slip into a role that was utterly alien to anything that Crowley had ever seen from them in the past. The utter  _ dread _ in Gabriel’s eyes far surpassed the fear Crowley had put into him in the elevator. 

And  _ Aziraphale _ was… well, Crowley hardly recognized him. By nature, soft, unassuming and demure, he had never had the sort of carriage or demeanor that inspired others to sit up and take notice - unless of course, the “other” in question was Crowley. Now, there was a quiet but unmistakable  _ certainty _ to the way he held himself - an imperious sense of authority that commanded, if not obedience, at least  _ attention _ . 

Aziraphale was...  _ transformed _ . 

Crowley just wasn’t sure… what he’d transformed into.

Crowley was uncomfortably aware that the one unfamiliar variable in this clearly well-practiced scenario was  _ him _ . Gabriel’s eyes were obediently focused on Aziraphale… except for the moments when they would stray anxiously toward Crowley in wary glances, before darting away the moment Crowley made eye contact. 

“Look at me,” Airaphale snapped. 

He took an abrupt step closer to Gabriel, snapping his fingers sharply, and tiny sparks of flame emanated from the point of contact. It wasn’t hellfire, but it was near enough in appearance to pass for it, if you weren’t close enough to feel it - and if you weren’t a demon. 

Gabriel was certainly convinced, flinching away from Aziraphale’s hand, lowering his head before carefully focusing his gaze on Aziraphale again. Aziraphale moved in swiftly anyway, taking Gabriel’s jaw in a firm grasp and forcing his head up and back. His eyes were wide with terror, obediently staring up into Aziraphale’s icy blue glare. 

“Crowley is here merely to observe.” Aziraphale’s tone was stern and warning. He smiled, but it was a viciously unkind thing, as he added, “He  _ agrees _ that you’ve proven a disastrous failure as an archangel, and he’s here to witness your penance.” 

Aziraphale allowed his hand to fall away from Gabriel’s face, and the archangel blinked up at him in disbelief, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat. He glanced at Crowley again for just an instant before looking back up at Aziraphale, incredulous. 

“What,  _ all _ of it?” 

Aziraphale leveled a challenging glare at Gabriel, and stated in a tone of certain, fierce devotion, “I have no secrets from Crowley.” 

Crowley could have laughed aloud, if he hadn’t felt so much like crying. 

He couldn’t look at Aziraphale. Instead, he kept his wary, watchful gaze on Gabriel. If the archangel decided in this moment that he was _not_ _going_ to tolerate an audience… if this turned out to be the last straw that drove him to find his courage and lash out at them to defend himself… there would be little that either of them could do to stop him. 

Aziraphale’s only power here was in illusion - a bit of particularly devastating irony, when Crowley thought about how long and desperately he’d  _ encouraged _ Aziraphale to focus on  _ real _ illusions rather than his fascination with safe, harmless human “magic”. 

Crowley would have fallen on his knees and  _ begged _ to see Aziraphale’s magic act one more time, if it meant he’d give up this repulsive charade. 

He watched closely, taking in Gabriel’s expression and body language. 

Gabriel’s fists were clenched tight at his sides, but he made no move to use them. As Crowley watched, he visibly forced back the shocked outrage that had momentarily surfaced in his eyes, and nodded in reluctant but submissive acceptance of Crowley’s presence, and Aziraphale’s ludicrous claim. 

Aziraphale nodded firmly once in response, before turning toward Crowley with a nervous, hopeful smile. 

It was the same sort of smile on his face when he’d offer Crowley a taste of some new dish he’d just mastered. 

Crowley felt as if he was going to be sick. 

Crowley focused his attention on Gabriel instead, noting the vaguely disgusted disbelief in his eyes as they followed Aziraphale. His gaze fell quite accidentally on Crowley for just an instant, before he swiftly lowered his eyes, but in that instant, Crowley could clearly read the words he didn’t dare say aloud. 

_ No secrets?  _

_ Maybe not anymore - not now that he got caught.  _

The archangel’s expression remained too knowing, vaguely contemptuous, as he stared safely down at the floor in front of him - and it filled Crowley with an irrational  _ anger _ at him, for seeing through the lies Crowley wanted so  _ desperately _ to believe. Gabriel had only met his eyes for a moment, but it’d left Crowley feeling embarrassed, oddly exposed, though Gabriel was the one naked on his knees. 

“Name your sins,” Aziraphale commanded.

Crowley glanced up at him, shaking himself out of his thoughts, before returning his gaze to Gabriel, admittedly curious to hear his response. 

Gabriel did not lift his eyes from the floor. “I am prideful,” he stated, quiet and resigned. “I am vain and arrogant. I’m a liar.” 

He fell silent, waiting passively for Aziraphale’s judgment. Aziraphale was quiet, regarding him thoughtfully, eyes narrowed, a skeptical tilt to his head. After a moment, he broke the silence, his tone light, almost teasing. 

“Is that  _ all _ ?” 

Gabriel looked up at him sharply in alarm but said nothing. 

Aziraphale shrugged slightly. “Are we…  _ forgetting _ anything?” 

Gabriel just stared for a moment, gaping, clearly at a loss. “I-I don’t know,” he fumbled at last, eyes wide and trapped as he glanced anxiously toward Crowley. “I...I…” 

Crowley glared at him, a single brow raised, waiting to see how or if he’d address what was clearly the source of his distress - his acts of adultery and fornication with  _ Crowley’s boyfriend _ . Much to Crowley’s increased irritation, said boyfriend seemed all too pleased with himself for the question that had managed to break through Gabriel’s almost bored delivery of his confession. He gave Gabriel a warning look that instantly stilled his anxious, stammering words. 

And reminded Crowley, like a fist to the gut: 

Gabriel  _ did not _ want to be here. He was not to blame, was guilty of no fornication; any sin of adultery was Aziraphale’s to bear. 

Adultery… and far worse. 

“What have we forgotten, my love?” 

Crowley glared at Aziraphale, hurt and indignant - and it took him a moment to realize that Aziraphale’s eyes were focused, bright and expectant, on  _ him _ , rather than the archangel. The endearment was directed at  _ him _ \- and all it took was that realization to make Crowley wonder if he still  _ wanted _ it to be. 

He tried to focus on the question, returning his resentful glare to Gabriel. “How about… abusing his subordinates?” he offered, relieved to have lit on a legitimate reason to be angry at him. 

Aziraphale’s smile faded, looking back at Gabriel, and the kneeling archangel shivered when he felt the chill in his accusing gaze. “Yes,” he said softly. “There is certainly that.” 

Crowley allowed his mind to go back over the stories Aziraphale had told him throughout the centuries - stories that gave him a moment’s comfort and reassurance about the scene he was witnessing. Countless times when Gabriel had deliberately humiliated and shamed Aziraphale publicly in Heaven, berating him to the point of tears. 

“Lack of regard for God’s creation?” Crowley suggested. “You lot were always supposed to  _ love and protect  _ Her creatures, yeah?” He nodded toward Gabriel with a smirk. “And this one was ready to just toss it all. Clearly,  _ not _ what She wanted.” 

“What else were we  _ supposed to do _ ?” Gabriel protested, eyes darting between the two of them helplessly, wide and wild with his building panic. “We  _ all _ thought that’s what She wanted!” 

The flicker of his old arrogant certainty made Crowley understand, for just a  _ moment _ , the satisfaction Aziraphale found in seeing him like this - desperate, frightened, convinced of his own powerlessness, though he could easily have smote them both in an instant, if he’d only known it. 

“ _ We all... _ did  _ not _ .” Aziraphale’s tone was sharp and severe, arresting Crowley’s attention, and instantly silencing Gabriel. “Crowley and I both knew that destroying the Earth was  _ not _ Her will.” 

That wasn’t…  _ strictly _ true, but Crowley kept his expression cool and level, watching Gabriel’s reaction as Aziraphale went on. 

“Now, we will both bear witness to your acknowledgement of your sins. You will cease your excuses at once, and put that troublesome  _ mouth _ of yours to a better use,” he snapped. “Your confession… and your penance.” 

Gabriel’s wide, fearful eyes met Crowley’s again with dread, and Crowley once again suppressed the jealous anger that rose up within him. 

_ Not his fault. Not his choice. _

Gabriel tore his gaze away from Crowley’s with an effort, nodding as he bowed his head, his breath quick and shallow as he uttered a soft, fearful confession, echoing Crowley’s accusations. 

“I - I have shown a lack of regard for God’s creation. Failed to - to love and protect it.” He hesitated, his jaw setting with the barest trace of his own anger, before he looked up at Aziraphale, a note of irony in his soft words. “I have mistreated those under my power.” 

His subtle defiance did not go unnoticed. 

Aziraphale smiled slowly. “You think you’re being  _ mistreated _ ?” He let out a low, disbelieving laugh. “After all you’ve just confessed? You should be well aware that you  _ deserve _ to be punished. Asking you to humble yourself and make amends to one you’ve wronged? A small price to pay for a long list of sins such as yours.” His smile faded, his expression going dark and angry. “Clearly, you still have a long way to go, don’t you?” 

The light of challenge faded from Gabriel’s eyes in an instant as he lowered his head, nodding, his voice barely over a whisper. “Yes, sir.” 

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look of exaggerated exasperation, both his look and tone clearly more for Gabriel’s benefit than Crowley’s. “See?” he sighed. “He’s  _ still convinced _ that he knows better than anyone else…”

“No,” Gabriel argued, a pleading, panicked note to his voice. “I’m not-”

His words were choked off abruptly when Aziraphale grasped his jaw, leaning down close to him to snarl, “ _ Do not _ argue.” 

Gabriel closed his eyes, swallowing hard, and tried to nod in acceptance of the command. 

Aziraphale released him roughly, standing up straight again. There was a trace of uncertainty in his eyes as he glanced over at Crowley, but then he steeled his expression into cold, imperious command, taking a step closer, into the kneeling archangel’s space. 

“Prepare to offer your penance.” 

Gabriel looked desperately at Crowley again as Aziraphale unzipped his trousers. There was a panicked question in his eyes - as if he was unsure whether to be more fearful of Aziraphale’s wrath if he refused - or Crowley’s, if he didn’t. 

Crowley couldn’t exactly blame him. If any trace of the hot, deep pit of  _ rage _ in his gut was showing on his face, then Gabriel had good reason to be frightened. Crowley  _ knew _ it wasn’t his fault. He felt sick, disgusted at the clarity of all his suspicions being realized - the horrifying truth of exactly what Aziraphale was doing. Yet, there was still a measure of jealous resentment in his heart directed at the archangel. 

_ Aim it where it’s deserved,  _ he told himself, lifting his eyes to focus on Aziraphale. 

But Aziraphale’s focus was on Gabriel. 

_ No. Not going to let him off so easily. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to have to look me in the face and do it. Maybe - maybe  _ that  _ will be enough to make him realize… to make him  _ stop _ … _

Arms crossed over his chest, Crowley moved away from the wall he was leaning on, crossing the room at an angle, headed for the wall behind Gabriel, with the intention of placing himself directly in Aziraphale’s eye-line. 

But as he moved, Crowley immediately noted the frantic terror in Gabriel’s eyes, as Crowley approached - a flash of glowing purple light, Gabriel’s gaze following Crowley until he moved behind him, and Gabriel couldn’t see him anymore. Alarm tightened in Crowley’s chest, his eyes drawn to Gabriel’s hand near the floor at his side - trembling, and surrounded with bright purple crackles of electric energy, building in intensity as Crowley watched. 

This -  _ this _ was what Crowley had been afraid of. 

Gabriel was the archangelic equivalent of a cornered animal, and a hundred times more dangerous than Aziraphale was playing at being. It was just one of many reasons why this whole thing was a terrible idea. 

_ Need to just leave him alone… need to get far away, before he smites us both…  _

_ Angel, what have you gotten us into?  _

“Angel…” Crowley said aloud, low and warning. 

Aziraphale was way ahead of him - already aware of the impending potential crisis. To Crowley’s amazement, he didn’t show even a trace of alarm - only fury, as he reached down to catch Gabriel’s arm, jerking the offending hand up between them and forcing Gabriel awkwardly up higher on his knees. The vicious smile that twisted his mouth twisted Crowley’s gut as well, sending a shiver down his spine with the cold anger in his angel’s eyes. 

“Is that a challenge, archangel?” he sneered, and Gabriel flinched and shook his head, but Aziraphale continued, shaking him. “You’d like to test your power against mine? Because I’d just  _ love _ to see how  _ that  _ turns out for you.” 

Gabriel could have jerked his hand out of Aziraphale’s grasp. He could have risen to his feet and shoved Aziraphale back away from him. He could have called forth his miraculous power and  _ obliterated Aziraphale from existence _ , along with Crowley and the bookshop and all of  _ fucking London _ if he wanted to. He didn’t have to allow himself to be treated this way - to submit to Aziraphale’s abuse. 

But to Crowley’s disbelief…  _ he did _ . 

Gabriel’s expression was taut with terror, eyes closed, as he clenched the hand held up in front of his face into a trembling fist, extinguishing the sparks. When he opened his eyes, they were their usual purple again - not glowing with power, but glittering with unshed tears. 

“No, it wasn’t - wasn’t a challenge,” he insisted, breathless and pleading. 

“I should hope not.” Aziraphale laughed, and the sound was low and dark with menace. “Between the two of us, we could destroy you in any way you could imagine - and a thousand ways you never would.” He glanced up at Crowley with a cool smile, his words soft and controlled as he watched Gabriel. “What do you think, darling? My vote’s for whichever way… lasts longest.” 

“Please…” Gabriel’s words were trembling and desperate, barely above a whisper, as he blinked back tears. “I didn’t…” He lowered his head, confessing in a voice hushed with shame, “I didn’t mean to do it. I - I saw him - moving behind me, and - I thought - I thought he was going to…” He stopped talking, closing his eyes again and shaking his head a little. 

All at once Crowley understood, and he felt sick with the realization. 

Gabriel had believed that Crowley was moving closer because he intended to  _ participate.  _

Aziraphale blinked with surprise, but no trace of the horror Crowley felt. Instead, a slight smile quirked the corner of his mouth up a bit, his demeanor softening. He lowered Gabriel’s wrist, but did not let it go, his free hand rising to gently cup his cheek. Gabriel flinched, bracing for expected punishment - which of course, did not come. Aziraphale  _ could not possibly _ have  _ ever _ made hellfire appear from that hand - and yet, Gabriel was terrified of the possibility. 

Crowley was simultaneously impressed, and  _ deeply disturbed _ by how blessed  _ good at this _ Aziraphale was. 

“You panicked.” Aziraphale’s tone was deceptively gentle, almost sympathetic. 

Gabriel bit his lip, stifling whatever words he might have been on the verge of uttering, and instead giving a halting nod. 

“I understand. You were afraid.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered. 

Aziraphale nodded slowly, eyes lifted over his shoulder to meet Crowley’s in a pointed look, before focusing on Gabriel once more. “Have I ever hurt you so badly, Gabriel?” He reached down to brush his fingers lightly against a particular spot on Gabriel’s chest, with a rueful, not-quite-regretful expression on his face. “Only once. Yes?” 

Gabriel nodded again, calmer. “Only once,” he confirmed, the words hushed and careful. 

“And…  _ why _ only once, Gabriel?” Aziraphale persisted softly, lifting his hand to Gabriel’s face again, tilting it up, insisting on eye contact, which Gabriel reluctantly yielded. “Why don’t I purge your sins with fire  _ every _ time we meet?” 

“Because… I … I serve my penance another way,” Gabriel replied, sounding a little lost, as if he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to answer. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder toward Crowley, but Aziraphale firmly turned his face back toward him. 

“Would you  _ prefer _ the blade?” His tone was all innocence, as if he were suggesting a choice of one entree over another, and not torture versus sexual violation. He gestured toward the desk, then lifted his forefinger and thumb, poised to snap. “I can take it out now, if you like…”

Gabriel shivered. “No,” he pleaded. “No, don’t…”

“You  _ prefer _ this means of penance. Isn’t that right?” 

Gabriel hesitated - then nodded, his head bowed in acceptance. 

“That was my understanding,” Aziraphale said mildly, nodding as if in confirmation of a correct assumption. He was quiet for a moment. “Whose idea was it?” he asked at last, quietly. “This method of penance?” 

“Yours,” Gabriel answered immediately, without hesitation. 

Crowley met Aziraphale’s alarmed look with a glare, but Aziraphale shook his head a little in confusion, frowning at Gabriel. 

“In the elevator!” Gabriel insisted, fearful confusion in his voice, clearly sensing that he’d said something wrong, but not understanding what. “You said… I could…” 

Understanding hit Crowley like a fist to his chest, driving the breath from him for a moment as he watched Aziraphale’s shoulders relax, relief in his eyes. 

“Oh, yes,” he sighed, meeting Crowley’s eyes with a single brow raised. 

Crowley couldn’t hold his gaze, the heat of shame consuming him. 

You _ started this. Put the idea in his head. Both their heads.  _

_ It’s all  _ your  _ fault any of this is happening at all.  _

“After that,” Aziraphale continued. “Once we started meeting here. Who was it who…  _ suggested _ an alternate means of penance? Something  _ other _ than physical pain?” 

Gabriel froze. He started to turn his head again, his guilty eyes immediately drawn to Crowley, but Aziraphale did not allow it, holding his jaw firmly and leveling a warning glare at him. The archangel hesitated, stricken. His eyes locked onto the floor in front of him, he managed an answer, barely a whisper. 

“... _ I did _ .” 

“You offered.” 

Gabriel nodded, drawing in a soft, shuddering breath. “I did,” he repeated. 

Aziraphale nodded too, slow, thoughtful. Then abruptly his hand shifted from its soft touch on Gabriel’s cheek, to sharply grip the hair at the back of his head, leaning in close, crouching down to face him. Gabriel went rigid in his grasp, hands flexing at his sides as he fought the instinct to resist. 

“Crowley and I,” Aziraphale said softly, looking up over Gabriel’s head to lock eyes with Crowley. “Well, we may as well be one, Gabriel.” 

Crowley could only stare at him, unable and unsure whether to confirm or deny the claim he would have died for mere days earlier. Aziraphale looked back at Gabriel, his words measured and intent. 

“What you freely offer to me… you offer to  _ him _ , as well.” 

Crowley’s stomach lurched. Gabriel apparently had a similar response, wincing, but he nodded, submissively accepting the statement. 

“When you treat him with disrespect… as if you’d attack him for coming near you… as if he’s… some filthy piece of trash you’d scrape off the bottom of your ridiculously expensive Italian leather shoe…” 

Gabriel shook his head frantically. “No, no, I didn’t…” 

Aziraphale shook him harshly, and Gabriel bit off the words with a soft, stifled little yelp. 

“When you disrespect  _ him _ ,” Aziraphale repeated with a warning edge, “you’re very deeply offending  _ me _ . Do you understand that, Gabriel?” The question was hushed, dangerously soft. 

Gabriel nodded, a motion quick and shallow like the ragged breaths Crowley could hear him drawing. “I-I’m sorry,” he gasped out. 

Aziraphale nodded slowly with him, eyes narrowed slightly, speculative. Then he stood up straight and roughly caught Gabriel’s shoulder, turning him toward Crowley and shoving him forward, still on his knees. His words were hard and commanding. 

“Tell  _ him _ that.” 

Crowley blinked, startled and just a little bit horrified. 

“Go ahead, then,” Aziraphale pressed, his tone softer, almost encouraging. “Make him your offer. Just as you did to me.” 

He looked up into Crowley’s eyes with a smile, a light of malicious pleasure in his eyes… and a hint of expectation. Crowley realized with a jolt, and a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach - Aziraphale  _ actually thought _ he might be able to convince Crowley to  _ join him _ in taking advantage of Gabriel. 

Gabriel’s eyes flickered up toward Crowley; he couldn’t quite lift them to his face. But Crowley could clearly see the panic and shame on the archangel’s face. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he choked out, one arm wrapped around his bare middle, head bowed. “Please… let me… make it up to you.” Crowley had the distinct, disturbing feeling that he was hearing the  _ exact words _ that had enticed Aziraphale into this repulsive arrangement. “I’ll - do whatever you want,” Gabriel promised in a hoarse whisper. “If - if you want to, I can -  _ you _ can…” 

“ _ No _ .” Crowley gave Aziraphale a severe look as he sharply cut off Gabriel’s halting offer, vaguely aware as Gabriel looked up at him in alarm and confusion. Crowley kept his eyes on Aziraphale as he ground out through clenched teeth, “ _ No thank you _ .” 

There was a moment’s tense silence as Crowley held his ground, glaring at Aziraphale. 

Disappointment registered in Aziraphale’s expression. 

Gabriel just stayed where he was - silent, helplessly waiting for a decision to be made by someone who was not him. 

“Very well, then,” Aziraphale sighed at last. 

He snapped his fingers sharply, and Gabriel flinched, then looked up, blinking in realization when nothing happened. He shuffled awkwardly back around on his knees to face Aziraphale, as the principality took his cock out, giving Gabriel an expectant, impatient look. Gabriel glanced down and back behind him, in Crowley’s general direction. Aziraphale snapped his fingers again, drawing Gabriel’s alert attention, and then nodded downward between them. 

“Get on with it,” he ordered sharply. “Serve your penance.” 

It was even more difficult than Crowley had imagined, to simply stand there and watch, as Aziraphale allowed himself to be pleasured by his former boss. True to his description of the process, Aziraphale did not touch Gabriel, except on his head, to occasionally adjust the position, and Gabriel made no attempt to touch him, either. 

By this point, Crowley had no doubt. 

Gabriel had no desire whatsoever to touch Aziraphale  _ at all _ . 

Which made it all the more sickening for Crowley to watch as Aziraphale’s eyes drifted closed, his head falling back a little, his breath quickening with pleasure. Crowley didn’t want to watch - but he didn’t feel he could look away, either. He felt oddly  _ obligated _ to take in the repulsive scene playing out before his eyes. 

Aziraphale opened his hazy blue eyes, meeting Crowley’s gaze, and had the gall to  _ smile _ slyly. He lifted one hand in a beckoning gesture, requesting that Crowley come closer, nodding down toward Gabriel, his other hand tightening slightly in Gabriel’s hair, as if to  _ hold him still _ , as if to  _ force _ him to accept yet another unwelcome set of hands, another unwelcome advance. 

He was inviting Crowley to fulfill Gabriel’s fears, and  _ participate _ . 

_ Fuck, no.  _

Crowley shook his head, firmly, lowering his gaze, keeping his arms folded, and remaining exactly where he was. 

He heard Aziraphale sigh - could practically hear him roll his eyes, as well. Crowley wasn’t sure if he’d  _ intended _ to invite him into the encounter when he’d suggested it. But once he’d become aware of how much Gabriel  _ feared _ it, once Gabriel had gone so far as to actually display  _ resistance _ to the idea -  _ now _ , Aziraphale intended to make a point. 

Crowley was all too happy to spoil his intentions. 

It was an unsatisfying gesture, as too quickly, Aziraphale seemed to forget his thwarted designs, biting his lip, frowning a little… losing himself in the pleasure, the way Crowley’d seen him lose himself in the flavor of a perfectly prepared dessert. He watched the way his fingers clenched at the back of Gabriel’s head, and the sense memory of those fingers, scratching against his scalp, tugging him greedily in closer when  _ Crowley _ had knelt before him, just like that… 

But…  _ not  _ just like that. 

Crowley could no longer pretend that this was in any way an encounter between equals, a  _ choice _ of any kind. Not for _ both _ of them. 

Gabriel was so painfully, visibly desperate to please Aziraphale, his hands carefully folded behind his back, eagerly sucking at Aziraphale’s cock, yielding to the subtle direction of Aziraphale’s hand at the back of his head. And by this point, Crowley could tell simply by watching - he well knew how Aziraphale liked it. Crowley felt a sense of fury rising up in him - but it was no longer directed at the archangel. 

This was  _ in no way _ Gabriel’s fault. 

Aziraphale finished with a soft, restrained little sound, immediately snapping his fingers to miracle himself clean and put to rights, leaving Gabriel to wipe his mouth with the back of a shaking hand. Aziraphale left him little time to recover, startling both Gabriel and Crowley when he abruptly caught Gabriel’s hair and dragged him the few short yards to where Crowley stood. 

Gabriel cried out with pain, and reached up to catch Aziraphale’s wrist and ease the pulling, but otherwise did not resist, scrambling to keep up with Aziraphale’s movement. Aziraphale released him with a shove at Crowley’s feet. 

“You still owe him an apology for your rudeness,” he snapped. “Kiss his shoe.” 

Aghast, Crowley stared at the angel in horror. “ _ Aziraphale _ !” 

Aziraphale gave him a sharply pointed  _ look _ , as he crouched next to Gabriel, who had not yet made any move to obey the command. His fingers tangled in Gabriel’s hair again, wrenching his head back. His words were perfectly calm, but low and warning, clear and precise enough for Crowley to make out every word. 

“You  _ do not _ get to leave this room with the impression that  _ you _ may reject  _ him _ . He is better than you in  _ every conceivable _ way, and you will  _ acknowledge _ it.  _ Kiss his shoe _ .” 

Gabriel nodded rapidly, drawing in a shaky, shuddering breath, trembling as he lowered his face to the floor, one hand reaching out, halting and tentative, to brush the side of Crowley’s shoe… just before his lips brushed the top of it. Crowley couldn’t move, just stared at Aziraphale in dismay, slowly shaking his head. 

Aziraphale met his eyes, calm and unapologetic. 

“He has to learn his place.” 

Crowley wanted to ask just exactly what Aziraphale believed was  _ Gabriel’s place _ \- just exactly what he believed was  _ Crowley’s _ place in all of this. He wanted to refuse this gesture, to pull away and tell Aziraphale to his face that this was  _ over, now _ \- or  _ they _ were. 

But… he couldn’t. 

Couldn’t openly undermine the illusion of control that Aziraphale had developed over Gabriel, by contradicting him, by showing them to be less than a united front. The very last thing they needed was for Gabriel to  _ catch on _ to the fact that he was being played. The slightest visible hole in their story, or crack in their relationship, might lead to questions, which would lead to suspicions… which would lead to Gabriel, getting ideas about fighting back. 

Crowley wouldn’t have blamed him - not one single bit. 

But, if Gabriel  _ fought back _ \- he and Aziraphale would both be dead. 

He had to play along, for the moment. 

_ Just  _ for a moment. It was all Crowley could tolerate, with Gabriel cowering, terrified and supplicant at his feet. Feeling uncomfortable and very guilty, Crowley quickly side-stepped away from Gabriel, careful not to accidentally kick him as he moved away. 

“Yeah, all right,” he muttered. “That’s enough.” 

Gabriel remained bowed low, though he lifted his hand to cover his face, shaken and humiliated. 

Leaving no space for his suffering, Aziraphale grabbed him by the throat from behind, grasping his wrist and holding it up in a reminder of his mistake, as he dragged him in close to speak in his ear, low and menacing. 

“If the day comes when he  _ does _ choose to touch you… to take advantage of your offer… I don’t care  _ what _ he does to you. If you raise your hand to him, I’ll _ burn it off _ .” 

Gabriel was in tears by this point, shaking his head pleadingly. “I won’t,” he sobbed. “Please, I won’t…” 

Aziraphale released him roughly, shoving his head down hard as he stood. Gabriel stayed where he was, hands extended in front of him as if to  _ prove _ he had no intention of attempting to defend himself further. His shoulders were shaking, tears dripping from his face to land against the dusty wooden floor. 

Crowley took in the exchange with stunned horror. 

He’d been worried about Aziraphale’s safety during these encounters - and he still was. He was well aware that all it would take was  _ one single time _ when Gabriel panicked enough to lose control, to fight back in spite of his apparent decision not to - and he would see that he was not as powerless as he thought himself to be. 

And he would destroy Aziraphale. 

That was no longer the greatest fear in Crowley’s heart. 

What he was really worried about now was - as ludicrous a thought as it seemed, for a demon - Aziraphale’s  _ soul _ . 

As unrecognizable as Aziraphale was in this room, in these actions - Crowley still couldn’t bear the thought of losing his angel. 

Aziraphale was all he’d ever loved. 

All he’d ever  _ had _ . 

And Crowley had no doubt that if he continued to do the sorts of things he’d just witnessed him do, in this room - he would  _ most certainly _ lose him, forever… in one way or another. 

_ This has to stop.  _

“Have you fucked him?” 

Crowley was aware of Gabriel going suddenly very still at his feet, but his attention was focused on Aziraphale, watching closely for any sign of deception. Aziraphale blinked, startled by the question - and Crowley immediately began to relax, certain, and reassured, without hearing the answer. 

Aziraphale steadied himself a bit, giving Crowley a knowing smile, glancing down at Gabriel. He answered with an edge of menace to his words that was clearly intended to further frighten the already mercilessly terrorized archangel bowed low between them. 

“Not as of yet.” 

Crowley didn’t care about Aziraphale’s sick agenda. He held his gaze, a quiet challenge in his words and his eyes. 

“I’d rather you didn’t.” 

Aziraphale’s mouth tightened with frustration, and he nodded emphatically down toward Gabriel.

Crowley raised his eyebrows, waiting, expectant, and did not back down. 

At last Aziraphale sighed. “As you wish, darling,” he replied. “I don’t believe he’ll make it necessary to abase himself even further. Will you, Gabriel?” 

“No,” Gabriel choked out, a plea and a promise in a single word. “No, I won’t…” 

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, leaning down to tug sharply at Gabriel’s hair. “Wait here,” he commanded severely. “ _ Don’t move _ .” 

Without waiting for any response, Aziraphale let go of Gabriel and turned to walk out of the room. Crowley watched him for a moment, wary and worried, before following. At the door, he glanced back, and stopped, troubled. 

Gabriel was still kneeling, still trembling - bowed as Aziraphale had left him, not daring to so much as shift position. 

***************************************************************************************

The moment he and Crowley were both outside the backroom, Aziraphale snapped his fingers toward the room, sound-proofing it. He had a strong feeling that the conversation they were about to have was best kept from Gabriel’s ears. He was immediately glad for his foresight, because Crowley didn’t waste a moment. 

“Who  _ are _ you?” he demanded in a voice of unmasked horror. 

Aziraphale managed to force a laugh. “A reasonably decent actor, apparently,” he breezed, “if I convinced you as well as him. He has to believe that I  _ mean it _ , Crowley…”

“Oh,  _ that  _ message came across loud and clear!” Crowley declared, an expression of distrust in his eyes that made Aziraphale feel uneasy and defensive. 

“Crowley! You saw it for yourself, he nearly  _ attacked _ you!” he reminded his partner. “He has to know  _ without question _ who is in charge, even if that means hurting him. If I have to hurt him regularly to prevent him from  _ hurting us _ , then I’m willing to do whatever it takes to  _ protect you _ !” 

Crowley let out a low, dark laugh, lowering his eyes and shaking his head a bit before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes again with a knowing, reproachful gaze, and Aziraphale felt…  _ caught _ . Guilty. As if a spotlight had been shone on his most shameful desires. Crowley knew him too well, saw right through the thin veneer of his excuses for why he  _ had _ to keep Gabriel ground under his heel, to the undeniable fact that regardless of point or purpose… he  _ wanted _ to. 

Crowley was quiet for a long moment, before he spoke again. 

“That was the  _ last time _ .” 

The words, low and firm and leaving no place for argument, were like a slap to Aziraphale’s face. The clear revulsion on Crowley’s face made Aziraphale’s flush with shame - shame, mingled with intense disappointment mingled with the cold slide of  _ panic _ trickling down his spine. Desperate refusal reverberated in his mind, clinging fiercely to the power he’d claimed. 

_ No. No, this isn’t over. It can’t be, not yet… _

He had hoped to make Crowley understand why it shouldn’t  _ have _ to be - why taking the arrogant, abrasive archangel and bringing him low was the best thing for both of them - the best thing for  _ everyone _ , in fact. Crowley had voiced concerns, about a second attempt at an Apocalypse - Heaven and Hell attacking humanity. 

Aziraphale had thought to point out that having Gabriel, immensely influential in Heaven,  _ fully submissive to their will _ was a fairly decent step in the direction of  _ avoiding _ that outcome. He’d tried to get Crowley to engage in the process, to see the…  _ appeal _ of it. 

But Crowley was having none of it. 

“Yeah, I saw what happened. I realize you’ve got to keep him… intimidated. Under control. Keep tabs on him, yeah, I got that.” Crowley conceded, but with a slow shake of his head. “But… not that way.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but Crowley held up a hand to indicate he was not finished. “I’ll make sure you have what you need to control him.  _ Without _ that.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley, he offered. He  _ prefers _ it to the pain. It was his choice…” 

“Yeah,” Crowley scoffed, a bitter note behind his dry laughter. “I’ve had a choice like that a time or two in my existence. In Hell.” The faintly haunted note in his voice set a cold feeling of dread in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach, a guilty ache as Crowley said quietly, “Sometimes you  _ can’t _ take the pain.” 

Aziraphale’s heart ached at the thought of Crowley experiencing what he’d been doing to Gabriel, at someone else’s hands. 

_ Crowley’s innocent, he’s never harmed anyone. He doesn’t deserve… _

“It’s not a choice,” Crowley declared softly. “You  _ know _ what it is. And it  _ will not  _ happen again.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t let himself think the word that echoed, unspoken, through Crowley’s quiet accusation.  _ It wasn’t the same _ , his mind insisted in silent frustration. As if  _ Gabriel _ had never misused his authority, never shamed and humiliated those under his power. There were laws in nearly every belief system about getting what one deserved - reaping what was sown, receiving back what one put out into the world. 

_ Gabriel deserves this. He’s earned it. Why should I not be the instrument of his judgment?  _

Looking into Crowley’s piercing golden eyes, firm and resolute in his conviction - Aziraphale found that he could not formulate the words to make his case. He knew that whatever he could say to defend his actions - Crowley  _ would not _ hear it. 

His heart was racing. He felt as if the path he was on had suddenly taken a sharp downward incline, and he was hurtling toward the bottom, swiftly losing control. There were two things he desperately wanted, each caught in a clenched fist and slipping through his fingers - and he could only hold onto one, and he only had moments to decide before the decision was lost to him. 

He took in Crowley’s face - solemn with resolution, soft with disappointment, but still shining with the love Aziraphale had always felt from him - and there was no choice at all. 

Crowley  _ could not abide _ this one thing.

And Aziraphale could not abide losing him. 

“All right, my love,” he said quietly. “I’ll honor your wishes.” 

Crowley blinked in surprise, and his shoulders fell as he let out a soft breath in relief. “Good,” he said firmly. “I’ll be here. Anytime he is.” 

Aziraphale stared at him, startled and taken aback. “You wish to… observe Gabriel’s punishment?” he clarified cautiously. “Every time?” 

“No, I very much do not.” Crowley laughed darkly, and the note of revulsion in the sound made Aziraphale feel cold inside, sickly exposed. “I don’t necessarily have to be in the room with you. I don’t like the idea of  _ any _ of it, and I don’t need to see it. But I do need to be home, if he’s here. For safety, in case it all goes pear-shaped. In case he gets the upper hand on you…”

Aziraphale couldn’t quite suppress a scoff at that idea. Despite the archangel’s panicked reaction a few minutes earlier, Aziraphale was certain that he could easily keep him under control. Gabriel was far too frightened of him to  _ actually attack _ . 

“And for purposes of  _ accountability _ ,” Crowley went on, and Aziraphale froze. “To make sure you don’t… cross certain lines, again.” He paused, gesturing back toward the door to the backroom. “And that? That little sound-proofing bit you just did?” He gave Aziraphale a sharp, questioning look. “Not allowed. It’s like  _ you _ said, yeah?” He shook his head, slowly, emphatically. “No more secrets.” 

Aziraphale felt stung, offended by the calculated caution in Crowley’s demands. He opened his mouth to protest… but the bitter, knowing smile on Crowley’s lips caused the words to die in his throat. 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ ask me if I  _ trust  _ you, angel.” 

An icy fist of fear clenched around Aziraphale’s heart, and he swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry with panic. “You’re… still angry with me,” he concluded in a small, subdued voice that sounded unfamiliar to his own ears. 

“ _ Of course _ I’m still angry with you,” Crowley replied without hesitation, calm and certain. “What did you expect, after that? I’m still processing that…  _ revolting _ little  _ demonstration _ in there. The fact that my boyfriend’s been getting…  _ sexual favors _ from someone else.  _ Coerced _ sexual favors.” There was something cold and hostile in Crowley’s eyes, but it failed to mask the hurt and disappointment there. “And I’m being kind, angel, I really am, because there’s a much shorter, much uglier way to say that.” 

Aziraphale knew better than to attempt to defend himself again. 

“All right,” he agreed quietly. “I won’t do it again. I’ll use other methods to maintain my control over him, and only when you’re home. I understand.”

It felt uncomfortable, unpleasant, this soft submission - like a jumper made of scratchy wool, and a size and a half too tight. 

He wasn’t at all used to yielding his will this way. Not anymore. 

Crowley studied him closely for a long moment, before responding with a slow nod. “Good, then. Go tell him when he’s to come back. Then come tell me. I’ll make sure not to have plans.” 

Aziraphale started toward the backroom, but stopped when Crowley turned slightly, calling over his shoulder. “Not book club night. I won’t be here - so  _ neither will he _ .” 

Aziraphale nodded without another word, and obediently headed for the backroom - his mind already racing ahead, shedding the ill-fitting garment of his acquiescence, and piecing together brand new plans of his own. 

**************************************************************************************

Gabriel remained where Aziraphale had left him, struggling to catch his breath, to slow the frantic pounding in his chest, to calm the panic that was rising in his throat, choking him, making it all the more difficult to catch his breath. 

He was helplessly trapped, ensnared under the power of the only angel and the only demon in existence who were utterly invulnerable to the weaknesses of their respective species. They had mysterious powers, some of which he knew about - others he could only guess, but did not want to. The ones he did know about were terrifying enough. 

And they’d focused their attention on  _ him _ , targeting him for punishment for failings that were not his alone, but much of Heaven’s as well. He was guilty, yes, but he was not the only one who’d made those same mistakes. 

That didn’t matter. 

They  _ both... hated _ him. 

And there was no place to hide from them - no way he knew of to overpower them. He couldn’t even begin to think of a way out. 

There wasn’t time to think at all, really, before Aziraphale came back into the room - alone, a furtive glance up toward the doorway revealed. He accidentally met Aziraphale’s gaze, and the cold, speculative expression on his face drove Gabriel’s eyes back down to his knees. He kept his body bowed low, struggling to control his trembling as Aziraphale’s slow, measured footsteps approached. Aziraphale reached him and crouched down, a soft, gentle hand resting against his back, fingers stroking idly, soothingly, up and down. 

“Well,” Aziraphale remarked mildly, breaking the silence at last. “He really does  _ not _ like  _ you _ .” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched dangerously, threatening to spill out its sparse but revolting contents. “I’ll do whatever he wants, I will,” he heard himself babbling, his panic speaking for him before he could even put thought to words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend him, please…”

Aziraphale’s hand left his back, his thumb brushing gently across Gabriel’s lips. 

The soft touch was more than enough to silence him. 

“He’s quite possessive,” Aziraphale explained, a faintly rueful note to his words. “Doesn’t like to share.” 

Gabriel shook his head, desperate to express that he had no intention of taking Crowley’s place, or anything else that was Crowley’s. He wanted no part of this at all, only to be  _ anywhere else _ , he could be gone in an instant if they’d let him, and they’d never have to see him again…

Aziraphale’s hand shifted to the back of Gabriel’s head, gripping his hair and pushing his head back down, stilling him. His voice was hushed, secretive, and Gabriel shivered as his free hand came to rest, light and casual, against Gabriel’s bare thigh. 

“He doesn’t understand what it is that we do in this room,” Aziraphale went on with a little shrug. “Demons have little concept of a thing like penance, after all. Not as we do, anyway. That’s all right.” His hand slid inward, his fist in Gabriel’s hair gripping tight and pulling him in closer as he leaned in to speak softly into his ear. 

“ _ He doesn’t have to know _ .” 

Gabriel couldn’t move; he felt as if his entire body and mind were paralyzed, incapable of resistance. 

No one had ever touched him where Aziraphale was touching him now. 

“Please,” he choked out at last, forcing breathless, desperate words past his lips. “Please, if he finds out, he’ll…” 

“And how would he find out?” Aziraphale’s tone was hard, threatening. 

Gabriel tried to shake his head against Aziraphale’s painfully tight grip. “No, no, I’m not saying I would - I wouldn’t, I won’t, I swear it…”

“It’s quite simple, Gabriel,” Aziraphale cut him off with quiet severity, a cruel smile in his voice as he amended, “Though, perhaps not for you. It would require particular  _ discretion _ .” He tilted Gabriel’s head up to face him, holding his gaze as he spoke slowly and clearly, as if to a particularly stupid child. “If you could only manage to keep your  _ mouth shut _ … then I won’t let him  _ hurt you _ . Understood?” 

His voice was low and leading as he brushed his thumb across Gabriel’s cheek, and the wet, warm slide of tears against his skin caught Gabriel by surprise. He nodded, drawing in a ragged, shuddering breath as Aziraphale slid his hand around to cup the back of his neck. 

“Three days from now,” he ordered softly. “That will be our new weekly meeting time.”

Gabriel nodded again, helpless, defeated. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale’s smile was bright and warm. “There we are,” he said appreciatively. “Much better.” 

He rose and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Gabriel was too stunned to move for a few moments. His skin seemed to burn where Aziraphale had touched it, his stomach roiling dangerously as he tried to bring the swell of panic in his chest back under control. Finally, he felt as if he could breathe again, and managed to get to his feet and put on his clothes. 

He was hopelessly trapped. The unwilling focus of  _ both _ their attention, the target of their anger and frustrations - which were likely to become much more intense in the coming visits, if this one was anything to go by. 

Especially now that Aziraphale had it in his head to  _ fuck him _ . 

The light of intrigue in his eyes when Crowley had first mentioned it - and the disappointment on his face when Crowley had forbidden it. The way his hands had roved freely over Gabriel’s body, gently exploratory, experimental, feeling out every single touch. It was clear what Aziraphale wanted. 

And it was the _exact opposite_ of what Crowley wanted. 

If Gabriel tried to stop Aziraphale, what would he do to him? 

And if he  _ didn’t _ try to stop him - what might  _ Crowley _ do? 

Gabriel slipped out the backroom door, head down, not daring to look up at either of them, though he could  _ feel _ their eyes on him, could feel the quiet that descended as their conversation fell away in his presence - not out of any sense of respect for him, as might have happened in Heaven, but because the debate was not his to hear. 

_ None of his business.  _

He was voiceless in this discussion of his fate - powerless to affect what might happen to him the following week -  _ terrified _ at the prospect of being the focus of a vicious lover’s quarrel between these two near all-powerful beings, who would certainly, either of them, rather unleash their fury on  _ him  _ than on each other. 

He made his way back to Heaven, his heart sinking with the certainty that Heaven could and would not protect him. 

Nothing and no one could. 

He was  _ so completely fucked _ . 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: non-con dressed up as dub-con... violent physical abuse and intense emotional abuse as well. 
> 
> Author's Note - GOTTA give a shout-out to the amazing team of betas who've been working on this fic with me, sharing their ideas and brainstorming with me for hours to work out details - boughofawillowtree, Dacelin, and Latromi, dear friends and brilliant writers all three, who have patiently dealt with my middle of the night spamming and generously shared their own ideas for this story. LOVE these three, and appreciate all their help/input!! <3 <3 <3

Despite his utter lack of anything resembling motivation or initiative when it came to his job - Crowley was extremely good at it. He was quite skilled in the art of temptation - even if he most often set that skill to the task of  _ tempting  _ his superiors away from noticing just how very little  _ actual work _ he’d accomplished since he’d last checked in with them. 

He wouldn’t have to check in with them - not ever again. 

Now, instead, Crowley was applying those skills to the goal of tempting  _ his angel _ toward a  _ lesser  _ evil than the one to which he was already inclined. 

_ I’d be getting sacked for sure if I hadn’t already quit.  _

Crowley surveyed the objects laid out before him with a critical eye, inspecting them closely. He tried to quell the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and not to consider for too long the purpose to which his handiwork would be applied. He gathered them up and went to find his angel… desperately hoping he’d gotten it  _ just right _ …  _ just enough _ pain to appease Aziraphale, while sparing his hapless target the worst of his intentions. 

Crowley found Aziraphale nestled into the corner of the sofa, a thick, well-worn book open across his lap. Without a word, Crowley sat down beside him, and laid down his offerings on the coffee table. Aziraphale looked up at him with a smile, which Crowley did not return. He merely nodded toward the items. Aziraphale looked toward them with mild curiosity; then his eyes went wide, and he set aside the book, scooting forward to the edge of his seat and extending a hand. 

“ _ Careful _ , angel,” Crowley warned him sharply, holding out an arm to stop him. “You’re not  _ actually _ immune to hellfire, in case you’ve forgotten.” 

“I haven’t,” Aziraphale assured him, a mildly defensive note in his voice, and he drew back a little, though his gaze remained focused on the coffee table. 

With no little reluctance, Crowley retrieved the first items from the table - a pair of simple bronze cuffs, deceptively delicate and narrow, and made to fit flush against the wrists. They were unattached to each other, and at the moment laid open to reveal a shimmering, otherworldly glow that coated their interior side. 

“On the outside, they’re just ordinary metal,” he explained. “But there’s hellfire on the inside. They’ll bind his powers, so he can’t…”

_ Defend himself. Fight back. Tell you to get the fuck off him like he ought to have every right to… _

“... can’t… do what he nearly did last time. Attack you. Perform any miracles, anything like that.” He was quiet for a moment, as he carefully handed the cuffs over for Aziraphale’s inspection. “As long as you’re careful, you ought to be able to handle them just fine.” 

“The hellfire on the inside,” Aziraphale said, thoughtful. “It hurts? Like touching the blade?” 

Crowley grimaced, shaking his head a little. “I used a lesser potency of hellfire with these than with the blade. When I gave you that blade, I thought you might have to fight for your life with it. It’s lethal. These… are not. They’ll sting a little. More, the longer they’re worn. Can get pretty painful, but… won’t kill.” 

He watched, feeling sick, as Aziraphale held up one of the cuffs. The fiery, golden iridescence of the interior shone in the light. Aziraphale’s finger traced along the edge, cautiously venturing almost to the point where the cursed metal would have burned him. 

“Will they scar?” Aziraphale asked softly. 

Crowley remained silent until Aziraphale finally lifted his gaze to meet Crowley’s again, solemn and questioning. His tone was vaguely warning, as he offered a quiet, pointed reply. 

“Not in an afternoon.” 

Aziraphale nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as he set the cuffs down on the coffee table with near reverent caution. His hand drifted toward the other implement Crowley had made for him - a whip, with a sturdy leather handle and about a dozen sharp, stiff tails - but he didn’t quite touch it, looking up at Crowley in silent question. 

“The tails are infused with hellfire,” Crowley explained. “The handle’s not. The tails will burn on contact, as well as leaving the usual lashes.” The eager light in Aziraphale’s eyes at the description set a cold, unsettled feeling in Crowley’s chest. “You’ll need to be careful,” he advised… taking care himself, as he chose his words. “You won’t be able to heal burns from that whip. Same as the cuffs. Shouldn’t scar, but… you’ll be sending him back to Heaven in whatever condition you leave him.” 

“Perhaps a lasting reminder would do him some good,” Aziraphale mused, a hard note to his voice. 

“You don’t want the other angels noticing,” Crowley reminded him. “He may think they can’t touch you, but...” 

“ _ They _ think so, too,” Aziraphale pointed out, a disturbing note of casual satisfaction in his distracted words, his gaze focused on the whip. 

Crowley frowned, troubled. “Angel…”

“I’m aware I can’t heal hellfire burns, Crowley,” Aziraphale cut him off, quiet but terse, finally looking away from the weapon in his hand to meet Crowley’s gaze. “But any sort of… bleeding. Cuts, welts… anything an ordinary whip might leave…” 

Crowley’s heart sank. “You could heal. Or he could, once those cuffs are off.” 

Aziraphale gave a thoughtful, knowing nod. “As I expected.” 

“But the hellfire burns… they’d have to heal the slow, natural way,” Crowley persisted. “Or - s’pose  _ I _ could heal them…” 

“No.” Aziraphale’s tone was quiet but firm. “Can’t be sending mixed messages, can we?” 

Crowley wanted no part of whatever message Aziraphale thought he was sending. He considered for a moment, then tried a different tack. 

“Hellfire burns are no joke, angel. What if he goes back to Heaven, and he’s… moving funny, or… someone notices he’s in pain, and he tells them...?” 

“He won’t.” 

The tight, cold little smile on Aziraphale’s lips, the soft certainty in his words, sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine. He studied Aziraphale’s face for a long moment, searching for a trace of the softness and warmth he usually found there. Aziraphale’s eyes left the whip to return Crowley’s gaze - and at last, Crowley found what he was seeking, as the angel’s expression softened, and he set the whip aside in favor of reaching out to take Crowley’s hand. 

“I  _ am thinking _ of these things,” Aziraphale assured him softly. “I assure you, my love, I won’t be… foolish, or reckless, about this.” 

Crowley swallowed, nodding slowly. “I know.”

Foolishness and recklessness were not traits he’d ever known his angel to possess. 

But then… neither was such vicious cruelty. 

Aziraphale returned his attention to the cuffs again, picking one of them up carefully as he slowly stood up. 

“Right, then,” he said with a decisive nod, drew in a deep breath - and then placed the bronze ring around his right wrist and clicked it shut. 

Immediately he gasped, his legs going wobbly beneath him, and Crowley quickly stood beside him and caught his arms, allowing Aziraphale to lean in against him rather than collapse to the floor. 

“Angel, what are you  _ doing _ ?” he demanded, dismayed. 

“I - I have to know what it feels like,” Aziraphale insisted, breathless and weak, his eyes closed for a moment before he blinked dazedly up at Crowley. “My, but that takes the wind out of you, doesn’t it?” 

“Course it does, it’s  _ locked your power away _ .” Crowley sighed in concerned exasperation, frowning at the way Aziraphale was trembling in his arms. “How are you feeling, angel?” 

“Weak,” Aziraphale replied, his fingers sliding along the outer edge of the cuff as he gazed down between them at the smooth metal that encircled his wrist. “Doesn’t hurt, though. Bit of a sting, perhaps, but… not too bad.” 

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, flat and grim. “Give it time. You’d best sit down, angel, here…” 

He gently pushed Aziraphale back down onto the sofa, sitting down beside him and keeping one steadying arm around him, watching him closely. There was an uncommon vulnerability to Aziraphale at the moment, his breath shallow and a bit too fast, his eyes wide and a little dazed as he looked up at Crowley with a shaky, breathless little laugh, and a wince. “Oh. Oh, yes, that  _ does _ smart a bit now. It’s just as you said, the effect… intensifies the longer they’re worn. All right, I’ll... keep that in mind.” 

Crowley found his wording vaguely unsettling, and couldn’t help wondering whether that meant he’d be more sparing in the use of the cuffs, or more likely to utilize them for longer. 

Before he could give it much thought, Aziraphale withdrew from his supportive embrace, rising to his feet and taking a cautious step or two, holding out his hands a bit to make sure he’d regained his equilibrium. He nodded a little, letting out a breath. 

“All right. I think I’m ready.” 

Crowley frowned, wary. “Ready for what?” 

Aziraphale picked up the whip and held it out to him expectantly. Crowley took it automatically, watching with horrified disbelief as Aziraphale took off his jacket and other accessories, then unbuttoned his shirt as he moved to stand next to the sofa. He slid it off his shoulders and laid it across the back of the sofa, bending his body slightly and bracing himself on the armrest, as he nodded for Crowley to move around behind him. 

Crowley shook his head slowly, even as he obeyed. “No,” he said softly. “I can’t do this, angel.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to, my dear,” Aziraphale said ruefully, his hands flexing against the soft cushion of the sofa’s arm. “I can’t very well do this bit myself, can I?” 

Crowley bit his lip fretfully, lowering the whip and taking a step closer. “At least let me take that cuff off first, yeah? It’s a bad idea. Not both at once…”

“ _ Yes, both at once _ ,” Aziraphale said firmly through gritted teeth, his eyes closed.

And with a sick, sinking feeling, Crowley understood that  _ of course _ it had to be both at once. Of course testing the cuffs alone was not sufficient, for what purpose did the cuffs serve at all, if not to force the archangel to stay put for worse things? 

_ Bloody Heaven, Crowley, what have you done?  _

“Crowley, you have to help me.” Aziraphale turned to meet Crowley’s eyes, his gaze solemn and intent, his words soft and quietly pleading. “There’s no one else... and I have to  _ know _ .” 

Crowley considered for a moment, sickened by the idea of raising such a weapon against his angel… nearly as sickened at the thought of what his angel intended to do with it. 

_ He’s right, though… and that’s exactly why. Perhaps feeling it for himself, knowing how much damage it can do… perhaps that’ll be enough to deter him…  _

Crowley squared his shoulders and gave Aziraphale a single nod. The adoring relief and gratitude in the angel’s eyes was sorely out of place given what Crowley was about to do, and it almost crumbled his resolve - but he steadied himself and took a breath. 

_ Gotta do it, and gotta make it real. Make it  _ hurt _. And, just maybe… _

_ … make him  _ stop. 

Crowley tried to shut out the warmth and affection in those impossibly blue eyes… tried not to think about the beloved flesh his hands had caressed until he knew every inch without sight… and drew back with all the strength he could muster to let the lash fly. Aziraphale choked back an anguished cry, and Crowley felt the sharp, desperate ache of it across his heart. 

Aziraphale collapsed to his knees, but held out a hand toward Crowley, refusing any assistance as he hauled himself back up on shaking legs. 

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice was hushed, trembling a bit with the tears that clogged his throat. 

Aziraphale just shook his head, knuckles white against the sofa, and ground out, “ _ Again _ .” 

_ No half measures, _ Crowley told himself, blinking to clear his vision.  _ You’re already in it… so make it count. Make it mean something.  _

He delivered a second lash, and when Aziraphale went down this time, he stayed on his knees, leaning against the side of the sofa, gasping for breath. Crowley tossed the whip down with the force of his revulsion, and swiftly closed the slight distance between them, crouching down facing his angel, but not quite daring to touch. 

“Aziraphale?” His own voice sounded small and guilty, his face flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, angel. It was too much, I - here, let me…” 

He reached out a hand toward the wounds he’d inflicted, but Aziraphale gently, firmly caught his wrist and stopped him, shaking his head. 

“No,” he whispered wearily, with a hoarse, rueful laugh. “You won’t be healing his.” His eyes were warm, knowing and sympathetic as they met Crowley’s over a tearful smile. “And I dare say I’ll strike him a good deal harder than you struck me.” 

Crowley stared at him. 

_ Then what was the point of the bloody test at all? _ he wanted to ask, but was silenced by the ragged sound of his angel’s breaths, his visible struggle as he pulled himself to his feet and turned to lean heavily against the arm of the sofa. 

“All right,” Aziraphale sighed, holding out his wrist toward Crowley with a pained grimace. “It’s really burning now. Time to take it off, I suppose.” 

For a single moment of wild insanity, Crowley hesitated. 

The same part of his brain that tried its best to shut out the thoughts of what Aziraphale would do with these cuffs balked at the thought of removing the one Aziraphale now wore. Despite the pain he knew it was causing his angel by this point, there was a certain reassurance in it. For the moment, the danger was as restrained as Aziraphale. 

He couldn’t hurt himself… or anyone else. 

Crowley took the cuff off, and laid it aside on the coffee table. 

“Well,” he said softly at last, breaking the tense silence. “Good to know you’re taking all this seriously.” 

“I am,” Aziraphale promised, and Crowley tried not to stare at the deep red mark encircling his wrist as he raised a slightly trembling hand to cup Crowley’s cheek, then rose up a bit to kiss his lips, soft and tender. “I promise, love… I’ll be careful. I won’t get hurt.” 

But as Crowley watched Aziraphale carefully gather his new tools and head for the backroom, his heart sank - because the eager light in the angel’s eyes sent a chill down his spine with the undeniable certainty that, even if  _ Aziraphale _ was not going to get hurt… someone else was. 

Aziraphale found Crowley in their bedroom a short time later, lying in bed, but far from sleep. 

He approached the bed with a bright smile, the cuffs held carefully in his hands. 

“Would you help me again, please, darling? I’ve been tinkering about with a small miracle or two, making some…  _ adjustments _ to make these a bit easier to handle - or rather, to eliminate the need to handle them at all, really, except the very smallest amount, and I need your help to make sure it’s all in proper working order…” 

Crowley frowned, shaking his head a little. “All what’s in working order? What’d you do, angel?” 

“Well, if it’s worked, then… I’ve performed a light blessing on the outside of the cuffs so that I  _ should _ be able to manipulate them without actually touching them. Less risk of being burned, that way.” He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Crowley, the comfortable press of his back against Crowley’s side familiar and reassuring. “Could you help me test them out, love?” he asked. “Hellfire won’t hurt you, and the blessed side won’t touch you, so… just a simple test of the mechanics?” 

Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes, and then rolled onto his back to hold out his wrists to his angel. 

“Oh, thank you, darling.” Aziraphale bounced a bit on the mattress with an eager smile, his hands deft and careful as he locked the cuffs around Crowley’s wrists. “This will just take a moment.” 

Aziraphale took his hands away and focused his gaze on the cuffs, eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. He blinked - and all at once Crowley felt the two individual cuffs snap together in front of him. He gave an experimental tug in an attempt to separate them, but found that he could not. There did not appear to be anything holding them there, and yet they were as solidly connected as if they’d been fused together. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow, taking in Aziraphale’s beaming smile. 

“Take it that’s what it’s supposed to do?” 

“Most definitely!” Aziraphale nodded, visibly quite pleased with himself. “All right, one more… just a moment…” 

He closed his eyes, focused for a moment, before opening them again and waving his hand - a swift, elegant flourish to the left and then to the right. Crowley gasped, as abruptly his limbs were pulled out to either side, and the cuffs fastened themselves snugly to the posts of the bed. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the sharp, forceful movement for which he’d had no warning nor control… or the sinking realization that no matter how hard he tried to tug the cuffs free of the bedframe, or his wrists free of the cuffs, either was  _ impossible _ … or the eager, hungry light in Aziraphale’s eyes as they took in his twisting, useless efforts. 

But all at once… Crowley felt the swift swell of panic in his chest, a cold prickling sensation at the back of his neck. 

“All right,” he said, his voice low and trembling a little. “Seems it works.” 

He snapped his fingers to open the cuffs - and nothing happened. 

Alarmed, Crowley tried again, still with no success. 

“What…?” 

“Must be the blessing,” Aziraphale mused, unconcerned. “The hellfire on the inside will prevent Gabriel from taking them off. The blessing on the outside must work in a similar way for demons.” He smiled a little, teasing, as he met Crowley’s eyes, tracing a single finger slowly up Crowley’s bare thigh. “Interesting.” 

“Not now,” Crowley muttered, jerking his leg away. “Open them, angel, you’ve got what you need.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes met his, something solemn and thoughtful creeping in behind his smile. He reached out his hand again, gentle, enticing, and traced it down the bare skin of Crowley’s side. His voice was soft and hushed and a little sad. 

“Have I?” 

Crowley swallowed hard, his throat dry, his heart racing. “Aziraphale… ‘s enough, angel, take them off now...” 

Aziraphale’s eyes dropped with his smile, his expression taut with uncertainty. He met Crowley’s eyes again, something low and dark and smoldering in his gaze as he slid his hand down to cup the jutting bone of Crowley’s hip. 

“You’ve barely touched me,” he observed softly. “Not in  _ days _ …” 

“Can’t imagine why,” Crowley snapped, jerking his wrists uselessly against the cuffs that held him fast. 

“You know I’m sorry,” Aziraphale insisted, pleading, his thumb stroking idle circles against Crowley’s skin - a familiar touch that usually melted him, but now felt more like  _ burning _ . “I’ve said it, and I am.” 

Crowley tried to twist away, but that only pressed his body closer against Aziraphale’s. 

Aziraphale’s voice went hushed, yearning and quietly desperate. “I  _ miss _ you…” 

The words struck Crowley’s heart through with an ache of pain and loss. 

_ I miss you too. Please stop all this. Come back to me.  _

“Aziraphale. Take them off.” 

Aziraphale’s face fell. “Not so long ago, you wouldn’t have wanted me to,” he said softly. “Not so quickly, anyway.” 

“I  _ want  _ you to,” Crowley insisted, hating the desperate tremor in his voice. “ _ Now _ , angel,  _ take them off _ !” 

Aziraphale’s hand first went very still… and then withdrew entirely. When his eyes met Crowley’s again, they were cold, and touched with a quiet anger that made Crowley’s heart race - and not in the pleasant, anticipatory way he was used to. For a long moment, the only sound was the harsh shudder of his own breath, coming in swift, ragged gasps. There was a soft accusation in Aziraphale’s words, when at last he broke the silence. 

“You  _ actually think _ I am capable of hurting you.” 

Crowley looked away, swallowing back a sob, his eyes burning with tears. He felt inexplicably  _ ashamed _ , and furious that Aziraphale could so easily make him feel that way, while somehow remaining utterly shameless himself. His jaw set stubbornly, he kept his face turned away, his words low and resentful. 

“Seems I’ve very little idea  _ what _ you’re capable of anymore, angel.” 

“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded slowly, bitter acceptance in his tone. “That’s right. I forgot. You don’t trust me.” 

Crowley’s lips parted to argue - but he couldn’t seem to find any contradictory words. It was what he’d said, after all, and it was what he felt… wasn’t it? 

He was fairly certain it was still what he felt. 

But the pain, the reproach in Aziraphale’s impossibly blue eyes, glittering with tears, made him feel other things, desperately confusing things that made him want to take it back, to apologize, to tell his angel he loved him and he’d forgive him and they’d get through this. He desperately wanted to say those things, and he desperately wanted to  _ mean them _ . 

He said nothing, simply lowered his gaze and waited in tense, unpleasant silence. 

He fought to suppress a flinch when Aziraphale waved his hand a second time - but Aziraphale didn’t hurt him,  _ of course _ he didn’t hurt him, he  _ wouldn’t _ , would he? Not like that. 

_ Like he said… he just misses you. Wants it to be like it was.  _

_ Can you blame him? It’s what you want, too.  _

Crowley felt a hot rush of shame, a feeling of guilty betrayal, as the cuffs simply fell away from his wrists, leaving them abruptly free, still awkwardly suspended for a moment. A snap of Aziraphale’s fingers sent the cuffs themselves flying into the angel’s hand. 

Aziraphale rose from the bed as Crowley lowered his arms and rose to sit up, instinctively pressing his back against the headboard and drawing the blanket up over his body. 

“ _ Aziraphale _ …” he began softly, reluctantly relenting, though he was unsure even as he spoke just what he intended to say. 

“It’s  _ fine _ , Crowley. I understand.” The angel’s posture was stiff, his words cool and distant, as he turned and headed for the door. “Thank you for the gifts.” 

******************************************************************************************

Gabriel walked into the bookshop as usual for his next visit; but… not everything else was as usual. 

Crowley was there, for one thing. 

Lounging against the wall, arms crossed in a gesture that clearly telegraphed resentful displeasure. As Gabriel entered, Crowley trained a cool, hostile look on him for just a moment before turning his warning gaze on Aziraphale. 

Then, he pushed off the wall and headed for the stairs. 

Gabriel’s heart sank a little. 

_ He told him what he wants… but doesn’t intend to stick around to see if he does it or not.  _

It wasn’t really that much of a surprise; he hadn’t really expected anything resembling  _ help _ from a demon. 

At least this week, Crowley didn’t appear to have any intentions of participating in the proceedings. 

In the backroom, Gabriel found more unsettling surprises. 

On the desk there was laid out a rather ominous looking leather whip, and a pair of bronze cuffs. His mouth went dry at the sight, but he drew in a steadying breath, swallowing hard as he carefully undressed. Following through with the usual procedure, he carefully folded his clothing and laid them in a neat stack on the desk - as far from the whip and cuffs as he could - and then sank to his knees facing the door. 

Aziraphale entered after a few minutes, barely acknowledging Gabriel before moving with a slow, purposeful pace to the desk. Gabriel lowered his head, not wanting to look as he heard the soft rustle of objects being moved about. He didn’t want to know what Aziraphale would choose to pick up. When Aziraphale’s measured steps brought him back around to face Gabriel, the archangel glanced uneasily up at him - startled to see what was in his hand. 

Aziraphale held up one of Gabriel’s delicate silver cufflinks between forefinger and thumb, eyeing it with distaste. 

“Why are you still wearing  _ these _ ?” he demanded. 

Gabriel looked up at him sharply, indignant. “You never said anything  _ about _ those!” 

“I shouldn’t have to,” Aziraphale countered, dropping the tiny trinket to the floor in disgust. “Pointless adornment. What necessary purpose do they serve?” 

Gabriel’s eyes followed the cufflink as it rolled, and he winced as it stopped with a slight scrape against the wooden floor. He cast his gaze back up toward Aziraphale, trying to keep his tone and expression level and respectful and  _ not _ sarcastic,  _ not  _ patronizing,  _ not _ the sort of subtle smart-ass defiance that was likely to highlight Aziraphale's ignorance, and draw his ire. 

“They… hold my shirt sleeves closed?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, blazing with fury. 

So… a failed attempt, then, at respectful. 

Gabriel lowered his gaze, staring at the floor in front of Aziraphale’s shoes. 

“Sorry,” he said softly. 

“I’m aware of what  _ cufflinks _ do, Gabriel,” Aziraphale snapped, severe and scathing, and Gabriel flinched a little. “But what purpose is there, in this age of such a wide variety of so many types of  _ practical, functional _ garments, for French cuffs at all? Except as an excuse for one more bit of…  _ purposeless adornment _ ?” 

It was a point for which Gabriel had no counter. He nodded. “Right,” he said quietly. “You’re right, I - I’ll stop wearing them.” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, before reaching down a hand to gently cup Gabriel’s chin, tilting his head up. The warm smile on Aziraphale’s lips beneath the cruel gleam in his eyes sent a shiver down Gabriel’s spine. His voice was deceptively soft, almost affectionate. 

“I’ll help you remember.” 

He turned back to the desk for a moment, returning with the pair of cuffs in his hands. He held them out to Gabriel expectantly. 

“A gift. From Crowley.” 

Reluctantly, Gabriel reached out and took them from Aziraphale’s hand. 

So much for Crowley not participating. The demon was sending a clear message, whether he was present or not. 

Gabriel could feel Aziraphale’s gaze on him, watching intently, his words soft and mild. 

“Put them on.” 

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to stand up and fight, to throw the cuffs in Aziraphale’s face and walk out of here,  _ right now _ . 

He didn’t. 

He knew how that would end. 

Gabriel carefully closed the first cuff around his right wrist, alarmed when, the instant it closed, he felt all the strength of his miraculous power drain out of his corporation. He was momentarily relieved to be on his knees, certain that otherwise he would have collapsed. Immediately he looked for the latch to remove the cuff, further alarmed when there appeared to be no seam, no visible means of opening it again - and feeling the edge of panic when, mere moments after it had closed, he felt the searing sting of hellfire in contact with his skin. 

Aziraphale seemed utterly unconcerned. He nodded toward the second cuff. 

“And the other one.” 

Gabriel hesitated. He didn’t want to obey, but he was already powerless. Already more at Aziraphale’s mercy than he’d been since the first time he’d walked into this room. Pissing him off further by deliberate disobedience seemed like a bad idea. His right hand trembled as he closed the second cuff around his left wrist.

“Recite your sins.” 

Gabriel went through the recitation of his confession, familiar enough by this point that he could get it all out, quickly and more or less accurately, despite the increasingly distracting burn of the cursed metal tight against his wrists. Maybe when he was finished, Aziraphale would be satisfied, and he’d take them off, maybe…

But, no. Gabriel wasn’t that lucky. 

This week, Aziraphale wanted more than mere confession. Aziraphale wanted  _ details _ . He asked about Gabriel’s week in Heaven - how he’d performed his duties, if perhaps there’d been less distraction, with less focus placed on his physical appearance. How other angels had reacted, if at all, to the change in his outward garb. Who made comments or gave him strange looks or asked questions and how Gabriel fucking  _ felt _ about it, when  _ all _ he could focus on  _ at all _ was the ever-intensifying, searing heat of the cuffs. 

“... believe that you’ll find it somewhat easier to focus, the fewer distractions you allow yourself, and… are you even  _ listening _ to me?” Aziraphale demanded abruptly, the sharp note of warning in his voice drawing Gabriel’s focus with a sense of urgency. 

_ Pay attention. Now.  _

_ If you don’t, it’ll be worse.  _

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel gasped out, closing his eyes against the heavy sense of weariness overwhelming him, vying for his focus against the pain. “I’m - I’m trying…” 

“Not hard enough,” Aziraphale snapped. 

Gabriel flinched. “It hurts,” he pleaded. An alarming thought occurred to him, and he blinked up at Aziraphale, trying to focus his vision. “Are these going to leave marks?” 

“Nothing you can’t easily hide under your shirt, with some nice, long,  _ practical _ shirt sleeves.” Aziraphale waved off his question - then let out a bitter huff of laughter. “ _ Of course _ that’s your primary concern, isn’t it? How this penance will affect  _ your appearance _ . Which is why you  _ need _ it, of course. The marks left by these cuffs will serve as a reminder against your sinful adornment.” 

Gabriel drew in a few deep breaths, struggling to maintain his composure. He found his mind a bit slow to process through the pain and the deep sense of exhaustion, but after a moment it caught up with Aziraphale’s words. 

“So… this is my penance,” he concluded softly. “We’re not doing… the  _ other _ penance, anymore?” 

This gift from Crowley made more sense, now. 

Aziraphale smiled, and there was a cool, dangerous edge to his soft words. “Wherever did you get that idea?” 

Gabriel felt trapped, immediately regretting the question - but he knew he had to answer. “Well… I mean… after what… what Crowley said, last time, about…” He hesitated, his voice automatically going hushed and secret as he continued, “ _ fucking me _ , I thought, maybe…” 

“Well, there’s your problem, isn’t it?” Aziraphale cut him off. He was still smiling, but it was a taut, angry smile that promised vicious retaliation for a perceived challenge. “ _ Thinking _ , drawing conclusions which are most often both presumptuous and wrong. Such as your assumption that Crowley  _ in any way _ dictates my behavior. He  _ does not _ .” 

“Right,” Gabriel gasped out, shaking his head. “No, of course not…” 

“But then…” Aziraphale mused, moving past Gabriel, out of his line of sight, and back to the desk. “He did give us such lovely gifts to play with, didn’t he? I know he’d hate to think we’d wasted them.” 

When he came back into Gabriel’s view, he was holding the whip in his hand. 

Gabriel’s eyes locked onto it with dread. 

The cuffs were cursed. And, if the cuffs were cursed, then it stood to reason…

“Stand up and face the desk.” 

Gabriel got to his feet with some difficulty, his head swimming, his limbs weak and heavy. He glanced uncertainly at Aziraphale, who simply nodded toward the desk - patient, for the moment, but expectant. Gabriel obeyed, though the act of turning his back to Aziraphale, and the whip in his hand, made him feel sick. 

He heard the snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, and abruptly the cuffs flew to the far edge of the desk, locking into place and forcing Gabriel to bend across it - fully exposing the back side of his body. He shivered, bracing himself. 

It would be bad. If there  _ was _ hellfire in the whip, it would be…  _ really bad _ , but… he could take a whipping. He would bear Aziraphale’s required punishment, and it would be over, and Aziraphale would be satisfied, and he could go home… 

The first blow was exactly the fiery agony he’d imagined, a sharp crack of searing heat across the base of his spine. The third blow fell against the backs of his thighs, and his legs collapsed beneath him. His stomach hit the edge of the desk with a sharp, painful impact before he crumpled to his knees, gasping for breath. He tried to pull up against the cuffs, to ease the aching strain in his painfully stretched arms, but the blows fell in such swift, fierce succession that he could not regain his footing, and very quickly lost count. Any intent to salvage some trace of his dignity - to keep quiet and bear up under the pain like an archangel should - vanished swiftly under the vicious onslaught. 

The first ragged, desperate cry torn from his mouth was the opening of a floodgate, and Gabriel found mindless, pleading words pouring from his lips as he struggled uselessly against the immovable bonds that held his arms taut across Aziraphale’s desk, his cheek pressed against its smooth wood surface, his feet sliding against the floor as he tried in vain to escape the searing shock of the lash, unable to rise from his knees or in any way evade the force of Aziraphale’s cruel retaliation. 

Finally, the blows stopped falling. 

Gabriel tensed, bracing himself as Aziraphale closed in, the harsh, ragged sound of his breath the proof of the exertion he’d expended in the beating. Aziraphale set the whip down, then leaned back against the edge of his desk, watching Gabriel for a few moments with a cool smile. He reached out to brush damp, dark locks away from Gabriel’s forehead, and Gabriel couldn’t help recoiling, flinching away from the gentle touch.

Abruptly Aziraphale’s smile vanished. He grabbed Gabriel’s hair with one hand, the other gripping him under his arm and hauling him up, then slamming him face down across the desk. His wrists still affixed to the edge, his arms pinned uselessly beneath his body, Gabriel fought a stifling sense of panic - fought the impulse to struggle, to try to shove Aziraphale off of him. 

He couldn’t. Not helplessly restrained as he was, not even if he’d been free and at full power. 

_ Can’t make him any angrier. Be still, don’t fight, be good… _

Aziraphale’s hand remained at the back of Gabriel’s head, though the touch was gentler now, fingers stroking, slow and soothing, through the hair at the back of his neck. Gabriel could see his other hand moving, but didn’t know what it was doing until he felt the light brush of the hellfire-infused whip across the lashes Aziraphale had left there - like liquid flame antagonizing the injuries to fresh torment. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he moaned, twisting in vain to try to evade the cruel contact. “Stop, please, _ stop _ …” 

Aziraphale’s soft hand in his hair gripped tightly, pressing his face down against the desk, as Aziraphale turned and lowered himself over Gabriel’s back, gripping Gabriel’s wrist with the same hand that still held the whip, his voice a low, menacing hiss in Gabriel’s ear. 

“When I am  _ damned _ good and ready.” 

Gabriel shuddered, nodding in hurried, pleading acceptance of Aziraphale’s power over him. His words had been meant as a plea, not a command. 

He knew that arguing that technicality would not serve to save him now. 

“I could continue to tear your corporation to shreds with this whip right now,” Aziraphale said softly, his breath warm against Gabriel’s ear. “Or… I  _ could _ fuck you. Right across this desk. With Crowley just outside that door. I could, and no one would stop me. Certainly not  _ you _ ,” he sneered with contempt - then went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice carried a bit more respect. “And not Crowley. Crowley _ does not decide  _ what I’m allowed to do to you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel shook his head, a sharp keening breath escaping his lips, barely able to focus on Aziraphale’s words through the searing burn of the hellfire that had scorched his back, his thighs, the vast expanse of skin left exposed to the whip. Concentration was nearly impossible through the mind-numbing agony. 

But… Aziraphale’s point was clear. 

“Who decides what I am allowed to do to you?” 

His hand went soft in Gabriel’s hair again, like his voice - a gentle promise of suffering should Gabriel answer incorrectly. 

“You do,” Gabriel gasped out, the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. 

“ _ No _ ,” Aziraphale said sharply, and Gabriel flinched. 

Aziraphale edged in closer, releasing Gabriel’s wrist and setting the whip down on the desk again, a moment before his hand fell, warm and soft and firm, against Gabriel’s side, fingers trailing slowly downward. His voice was a hushed, secretive whisper. 

“ _ She _ does.” 

Gabriel froze, an icy trickle of dread sliding down his spine, horror seizing him at the very  _ suggestion _ that this might be…  _ Her _ will. He drew in a sharp gasp, his mind refusing, rebelling, echoing a litany of  _ no, no, no _ \- but he couldn’t seem to form words, couldn’t move at all as Aziraphale’s hand traveled over his body, tracing the marks the whip had left on his back, and lower, fingers edging into the cleft at the base of his spine, then trailing down between his legs, all while Aziraphale continued his soft, knowing words. 

“She could stop this at any point. Couldn’t She?” he pointed out, thoughtful. “And She hasn’t. Therefore this  _ must _ be what She wants for you.” He leaned in close, his hand in Gabriel’s hair tightening enough to draw his head back, exposing his throat. Aziraphale whispered low against Gabriel’s ear, “What She feels  _ you deserve _ … right?” 

_ No, no… surely that can’t be true, it can’t… but… then… why is this happening?  _

“There must be a reason.” Aziraphale’s words echoed the cruelest answer to the questions flooding Gabriel’s mind. “Why She’s allowing this. She didn’t  _ allow _ my execution, did She?” Aziraphale paused for a moment before concluding, low and taunting, “But I don’t see any  _ miraculous rescues _ happening for  _ you _ .” 

Gabriel didn’t have an answer or an explanation.

He’d offered up prayers in this room, in the quiet, dreadful moments while he waited for Aziraphale to come in. Week after week, whispered pleas for Her mercy, Her deliverance. Each time, his fervent prayers were met with silence, only broken by the measured advance of Aziraphale’s footsteps, and the sound of a closing door. 

It made the sort of perfect, awful sense that was a blow more devastating than any lash of the whip. 

The tears in his eyes slid down his face, dripping onto the desk, as he choked back a deep, aching sob. He collapsed against the desk, the instinct to struggle, the taut resistance of his body, driven from him by the certainty of Aziraphale’s claims. 

“You deserve this,” Aziraphale murmured sadly, a gentle hand cupping his bare shoulder, drawing him close in a parody of an embrace. “Don’t you?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gabriel whispered, heartbroken. 

The hand on his shoulder slid to the back of his neck, gripping hard and pressing his face down against the desk. Aziraphale’s words were a low, warning growl. 

“Yes,  _ what _ ?” 

“Yes, I - I deserve it,” Gabriel sobbed softly. 

“You’re a wretched sinner,” Aziraphale declared, low and vicious. “And you deserve to suffer for your sins.” 

“I-I’m a wretched sinner,” Gabriel repeated in obedient surrender. “I d-deserve it. I’m sorry,” he choked out a desperate, repentant sob, hoping to appease Aziraphale, hoping to find some  _ trace _ of the light of Her mercy. “Please… please,  _ I’m sorry _ …” 

************************************************************************************

It was working. 

Aziraphale could  _ feel _ Gabriel breaking within his grasp, under the force of the pain and the shame and his own irrefutable arguments. Accepting his guilt, his punishment… his  _ place _ , at Aziraphale’s feet, under Aziraphale’s power and at his mercy. 

Aziraphale gripped the back of Gabriel’s neck and shoved him down hard, caught up in the sense of power, the satisfaction of subjugating the archangel - and suddenly froze, his eyes widening as his gaze lit on something he hadn’t noticed before - though he could not imagine how it could possibly have escaped his attention, as agonizing as those two lashes Crowley had given him had been. 

Hellfire burns, across the back of his own hand. 

He’d lost himself in his own fury, unleashing a far worse beating upon Gabriel than he’d intended. He’d availed himself of the whip to vent his rage at Gabriel’s subtle challenge and the subtler mockery that had preceded it… as well as the hurt and frustration of Crowley’s rejection… on his captive, until he was simply too exhausted to raise the whip for one more blow. 

And somehow in the midst of it all, he’d managed to burn himself as well - and hadn’t even noticed. 

Alarmed, he took a breath - with an effort, reined in his temper. 

Any thought he’d entertained to that point of carrying out his threat… of pressing Gabriel down against the desk and having his way with him right then and there… vanished in an instant. 

He had to regain control. 

And he  _ could not _ allow Gabriel to see the hellfire burn on his hand. 

“Please,” Gabriel sobbed… choked, rending sounds that  _ almost _ made Aziraphale feel sorry for him. “Please, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, please…  _ please _ …” 

Aziraphale allowed himself to relax a little; Gabriel didn’t seem likely to notice much of anything beyond his own shame and suffering, at the moment.

Aziraphale released him and stood up straight. He waved his hand, and the cuffs fell away from the desk but remained on Gabriel’s wrists. Aziraphale took a couple of steps backward, placing his hands behind his back in a falsely casual stance as Gabriel slowly realized that he was no longer fastened to the desk, and cautiously, falteringly, rose from its surface, turning to face Aziraphale with his tear-streaked face bowed low, his arms wrapped around his torso. 

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment, impassive. 

“Kneel,” he ordered softly. 

Gabriel looked up at him, his tearful eyes shocked wide, shaking his head just slightly in disbelief rather than refusal. He’d clearly believed the beating to be the extent of his penance, and it was a fair enough assumption. 

But Gabriel had challenged Aziraphale’s rights - and that challenge had to be answered, with unequivocal certainty. 

“You’ll kneel at once,” Aziraphale said, quiet and firm. “Unless you’d prefer that things become even more unpleasant than they already have.” He took his uninjured hand from behind his back, studied it as he allowed a few sparks to rise from his fingertips. “And as much as you’ve angered me already today, Gabriel, I’m not sure you’d  _ survive  _ another test of my temper.” 

Gabriel shuddered, bowing his head again, nodding quickly. He slid swiftly, quietly, to his knees. 

No more foolish arguments about what  _ Crowley _ said, or what Aziraphale was  _ allowed _ to do. 

“That’s it,” Aziraphale said softly, fingers running through Gabriel’s hair in gentle reassurance, soothing him, as Gabriel opened his mouth and took him in, performing his usual penance in utter submission. “That’s much better...” 

When he had finished, Aziraphale crouched down facing Gabriel, careful to keep his injured hand behind Gabriel’s head, fingers playing gently through his hair. Now that he was calmer, Aziraphale was definitely feeling the burn, but he ignored it as best he could for the moment, focusing instead on Gabriel, who was staring at the floor between them, trembling - acutely aware of Aziraphale’s focused attention. 

“You were so quick to argue as to whether I was  _ allowed _ to demand your usual form of penance,” Aziraphale quietly observed. 

Gabriel winced, trembling lips parted to protest, but Aziraphale tightened his grip on his hair, and the archangel bit his lip, silencing himself before Aziraphale had to. 

Aziraphale suppressed a smile.

He was learning well. 

“Which do you  _ prefer _ ?” Aziraphale asked, pensive, speculative, fingers soothing through Gabriel’s hair once more, now that their wordless warning had been delivered and heeded. “Which would you choose, if the choice was yours? The whip - or this?” 

“This,” Gabriel confessed, hoarse and broken. “But… it isn’t up to me.” There was more honesty in his words than Aziraphale had ever heard there before - no trace of pretense or arrogance. He sounded…  _ lost _ , confused and desperate. “I  _ don’t _ get to choose, and… I - I don’t want Crowley to - to be angry with me…” 

Aziraphale nodded slowly, considering his response. “He would be, you know,” he agreed at last with a little grimace. “You’re the one who wanted this. You offered yourself to me.  _ Sold yourself  _ to avoid a bit of pain. So, the next time you think of telling  _ me _ what I am and am not allowed to do… speaking to  _ me _ of what  _ Crowley  _ wants… you’d do well to remember that.” 

His words were sharp and warning, and Gabriel visibly wilted as he spoke, nodding in hurried, desperate acceptance. 

Aziraphale let go of him at last, rising to his feet and moving to stand behind Gabriel. He frowned when he took in the severity of the damage he had inflicted. Gabriel’s back was coated with blood that was beginning to dry, sticky and dark, against his skin. Aziraphale placed a firm, gentle hand on his shoulder, focusing his energy on healing the worst of it - the bleeding lashes and welts that would be bruises by the morning, if allowed to remain. 

Gabriel could have healed himself, Aziraphale knew, the moment he left here - but at this point, Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he would dare. 

And… he needed Gabriel to appear less damaged,  _ before _ he left this room. 

“I’m leaving the burns,” he explained softly, stroking his hand across Gabriel’s shoulder before removing it completely. “You need a reminder of this lesson. But I’ve healed the worst of your injuries. Can’t have you bleeding through your clothing while you’re trying to do your Heavenly work.” 

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his head bowed. “Thank you,” he whispered at last, halting and uncertain. 

“Get up and get dressed,” Aziraphale commanded softly. 

While Gabriel was obeying, the process slowed by the trembling of his hands and the soreness of his back, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and collected the errant cufflink, as well as the one remaining on the desk, placing them together on the desk, apart from the rest of Gabriel’s clothing. Gabriel glanced at them as he dressed, but made no move to touch them. 

He went very still when he was finished, staring down at his arm extended in front of him, and Aziraphale looked down, following Gabriel’s gaze. His clothing was spattered with blood - tiny spots in random places where the whip had flung it. 

Aziraphale moved in close, placing a steadying hand on Gabriel’s arm. Gabriel tensed, but did not pull away - flinched, when Aziraphale snapped his fingers. 

The blood vanished, the archangel’s garments pristine once more. He ventured an uncertain glance up at Aziraphale’s face, and Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic look. “Wouldn’t want all of Heaven seeing the evidence of your misbehavior, now, would we?”

Gabriel looked down again, shaking his head. “Thank you,” he whispered again. 

“I’m going to take the cuffs off now,” Aziraphale continued quietly. “You may want to hold onto something. I’m sure all that power returning to your corporation at once will be… a bit overwhelming.” 

Gabriel nodded, reaching out a hand to brace on the edge of the desk. 

Aziraphale considered for a moment, studying the archangel closely. He  _ seemed _ subdued… unlikely to attempt any sort of attack. But then, Aziraphale remembered what it’d felt like, in the wake of a particularly humiliating correction at  _ Gabriel’s _ hand. He remembered the things he’d wanted to do and say… and  _ would _ have, if he’d had access to the sort of power an archangel possessed.

“Might even be a bit tempting,” he remarked, mild and thoughtful. “When all that power comes flooding back.” He leveled his gaze on Gabriel, watching for his reaction. “To use it.” 

Gabriel’s eyes darted up to his in alarm, and he shook his head. “No,” he insisted, soft, quietly desperate. “No, I won’t.” 

“You’re sure?” Aziraphale put on a teasing, falsely disappointed pout, making his tone hushed and enticing. “Could be fun.” 

“ _ No _ ,” Gabriel repeated, with trembling urgency. Then he winced, closing his eyes, softening his tone. “No, I - I know better.” 

Aziraphale observed him, trying to gauge his honesty. Gabriel had never been one for subtlety, and he certainly  _ seemed _ sincere. He hooked a knuckle under Gabriel’s chin, tilting his head back up, silently insisting on eye contact. His words were low, with an edge of warning. 

“ _ What _ do you know?” 

Gabriel swallowed convulsively, an edge of panic in his wide eyes. “I know - it doesn’t matter. How much - power I have.” He was quiet a moment, then let out a heavy breath before concluding in a tone of soft defeat, “You’ll still have more.” 

Aziraphale smiled. 

Yes, he was quite satisfied with that answer. He nodded once in acknowledgement, then merely blinked - and the cuffs opened, releasing Gabriel’s wrists and returning themselves to the top of the desk. 

Gabriel gasped, his hand gripping the edge of the desk, and Aziraphale placed a steadying hand on his arm. He waited patiently for Gabriel to recover, waited until the archangel met his gaze again to call out, with enough supernatural power behind the words to ensure he was heard upstairs as well. 

“Crowley, love… would you come here, please?” 

Gabriel froze, staring at him in horrified confusion. 

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose a little, shaking his head dismissively. 

“It’s all right,” he said softly, as Crowley’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs. “Remember,” he reminded Gabriel with a little wink. “He doesn’t have to know  _ everything _ .” 

As the door opened, Gabriel turned toward it, and Aziraphale suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the guilty, trapped expression on his face, sure to give  _ everything  _ away in an instant if Aziraphale didn’t do damage control. He caught Gabriel’s hair sharply and shoved him to his knees, giving Crowley an irritated look, as if Gabriel should have known to already be on them. 

Crowley met the look with a wary, questioning gaze, eyes darting between Aziraphale, and the kneeling archangel. 

Gabriel bit back a startled cry of pain at the jarring of his injuries, but didn’t otherwise protest the rough treatment. 

Aziraphale could feel him shaking under his hand. 

“We’ve been discussing Gabriel’s past behavior,” he explained to Crowley, who looked intensely uncomfortable. “And the… new ways of doing things we’re going to be employing. And Gabriel has something to say to you.” 

**************************************************************************************

_ Something to say? _ What was he  _ supposed to say? _

Aziraphale had made it perfectly clear to Gabriel that nothing was going to change in terms of how they did things - except for the worse. Except that  _ pain _ was to be added to his usual penance. He was clearly trying to lead Crowley to believe otherwise - that the sexual element to Gabriel’s penance that the demon found so objectionable was a thing of the past. 

When… it wasn’t. 

Did Aziraphale expect him to _ lie _ ? 

He wasn’t supposed to say  _ anything _ to Crowley about what had just happened?  _ Was he? _

“Well?” Aziraphale pressed, a sharp edge of warning to the word. “What does Crowley  _ deserve to hear _ from you, in regards to your  _ past _ behavior?” 

All at once, Gabriel understood, a sense of relief passing over him. 

This was about making Crowley feel better about the situation. Convincing him it was in the past. Taking responsibility for it so that Aziraphale wouldn’t have to - so that Crowley could aim his anger and blame and hostility somewhere  _ besides Aziraphale _ . 

At  _ Gabriel _ . Which was, at best, an unsettling thought, but… Aziraphale’s anger was  _ definitely _ the more frightening of the two. 

_ So… apology, then. You can do that… _

Aziraphale’s fingers tightening painfully in the short hair at the back of Gabriel’s neck made his impatience evident. 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said softly, lowering his gaze to the level of Crowley’s shoes. “I - didn’t want to be punished, so I - offered myself. To Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale’s grip eased, but his hand remained heavy at the back of Gabriel’s neck, his thumb stroking slowly, soothingly through his hair, just outside the line of Crowley’s vision. His voice was mild, patiently leading. 

“Like a filthy little whore.” 

Gabriel flinched, the heat of shame prickling on his skin, tears burning in his eyes. 

“Like a filthy little whore,” he obediently repeated, hoarse and hushed. “I should have just… taken the punishment I deserve. And - I will from now on.” He ventured to look up at Crowley. “It - it won’t happen again.” 

Crowley’s expression was wary, suspicious, his eyes darting just barely behind Gabriel’s head to - to the place where Aziraphale was touching him… 

_ Shit, he knows, he knows already, and that means he knows I’m lying, he’s going to kill me,  _ Aziraphale’s _ going to…  _

Aziraphale’s hand left his hair, shoving hard at his shoulder, pushing him toward Crowley. 

“Apologize  _ properly. _ ” 

Gabriel nodded. 

He could do  _ that _ , too, for whatever good it would do. Perhaps if he abased himself enough, prostrated himself before Crowley in supreme submission, the demon wouldn’t be so angry. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, solemnly. 

He moved forward on his knees, prepared to lower his face to the floor - but Crowley took an abrupt step backward - holding up a hand. 

“ _ No _ ,” he said firmly. “No, I  _ do not _ want you to do that.” 

Panic seized Gabriel’s chest at the rejection of the gesture. Crowley didn’t want it, but Aziraphale had  _ ordered _ him to. He had to obey. He hesitated - then tried again, lowering his body and reaching for Crowley’s shoe. Crowley withdrew with a low sound of disgusted protest. 

“Oh, stop it,” Aziraphale hissed, and Gabriel cringed at his swift approach. A sharp jerk against the collar of his jacket yanked Gabriel backward, and Aziraphale shoved him down again at his side, out of reach of Crowley. “Can’t you do  _ anything  _ right?” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel repeated uselessly, at an utter loss as to what he  _ should _ have done. “I’m sorry…”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s tone was tight, severe. “A word?” 

“Just a moment,” Aziraphale agreed with a nod and a bright smile. “I’ll send Gabriel home and be right with you, darling.” 

Crowley didn’t remotely return his smile, turning to leave the room without a word, just slightly  _ slamming _ the door behind him. 

Gabriel remained on his knees, waiting and braced for the consequences of his failure, as Aziraphale drew in a breath and let it out in a weary sigh, fingers once again tracing gentle paths through Gabriel’s hair. 

“Well,” he remarked flatly. “That was rather…  _ less than adequate _ , wasn’t it?” 

“Please, I tried,” Gabriel desperately replied. “He didn’t want me to, I didn’t know what to do. I said what you wanted, right? Was that right? Please, I’m trying...” 

His words spilled from his lips in a panicked rush as Aziraphale moved around to face him, crouching down with an expression of false patience - until his left hand shot out to grasp Gabriel’s throat, tightly enough to silence him, pulling Gabriel in close to him. His tone remained soft - tolerant, but disappointed. 

“I suppose you did your best,” he conceded. “You’d best hope he believed you. Because if he didn’t, well - who knows what he might do next time he sees you?” He was quiet for a moment, meeting Gabriel’s gaze with a light of menace in his eyes. “Who knows what  _ I _ might do… if he’s angry with  _ me _ … because  _ you _ are useless and incompetent?” 

Gabriel’s heart sank. “Please, I’ll do better, I’m trying, please…” 

Aziraphale’s fingers sank deeper into Gabriel’s throat, his grip cutting off the breath needed to speak, as he leaned in close to his ear, words low and threatening. 

“That  _ mouth _ of yours is going to get you into trouble if you don’t learn to just  _ keep it shut _ .” 

Gabriel went silent, nodding with an effort against Aziraphale’s grip. 

Finally, Aziraphale let go of him with a rough shove, rising to his feet. 

“Same time next week,” he ordered. 

Gabriel was so terrified he could barely think as he left the bookshop and made his way back to Heaven. 

He was afraid of Crowley, and what he’d do if he found out about the lie they’d just told him, and the things that had taken place in the backroom that day. He was  _ more _ afraid of Aziraphale, and what  _ he _ would do if Crowley found out. But most of all, he was afraid of what would happen if Crowley  _ didn’t  _ find out - if things went on exactly according to Aziraphale’s will. 

Because Aziraphale  _ was going  _ to fuck him. 

He’d made it perfectly clear. He had no intention of allowing Crowley’s wishes to stop him from having anything he wanted. And  _ he wanted Gabriel _ \- in a way that no one else in his existence had  _ ever _ had Gabriel. And  _ when that happened _ , if Crowley found out, Gabriel knew that Aziraphale would not hesitate for a moment to place the entirety of the blame on Gabriel’s shoulders. 

It’d be easy. 

Gabriel had just openly, verbally claimed responsibility. 

As terrifying and confusing and painful and generally awful as this visit had been - Gabriel knew that whatever direction things took, whatever happened… he had  _ worse _ to look forward to. 

He swallowed hard, trying to slow the pounding of his panicked heart, trying to focus his racing thoughts of his next return to the bookshop.

_ … If _ he returned to the bookshop. 

_ You could… just not, _ a familiar little voice whispered. 

And this time his mind was just desperate enough to entertain the tempting notion. 

_ Don’t go back.  _

_ No matter what happens… it can’t be any worse than what will happen if you do.  _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific Chapter Warnings: non-con, violence/abuse 
> 
> I sincerely hope I haven't lost some readers after that last chapter... though this one and the one following are definitely worse!! :-/ 
> 
> But I do understand if at this point some of y'all are deciding this is... not the fic for you. *hugs* 
> 
> Very much appreciate all the kind comments and thoughtful/insightful feedback I've been getting on it, it's quite encouraging to me to keep going despite the fact that some of these updates I'm... just a little bit scared to post at all. :-/ 
> 
> Thanks, guys 
> 
> *hugs*  
> DoS

_ “Crowley, love… would you come here, please?”  _

The sound of Aziraphale’s voice echoed around Crowley, miraculously carried to his ears through the walls, across the distance between their bedroom and the backroom of the bookshop.

Crowley didn’t even want to  _ imagine _ what might be taking place there - let alone  _ go down there _ where he could  _ see _ it. He didn’t want any part of  _ it _ . He’d come up here to wait  _ it _ out so that he wouldn’t even have to think about  _ it _ . 

For all the good  _ that _ had done. 

In the quiet solitude of the upstairs apartment, he could think of nothing else. 

_ The whole point of you being here is in case he needs you, right?  _ he reminded himself with a heavy sigh, as he headed down the stairs.  _ In case something goes wrong? _

He wasn’t sure what to expect. Had Gabriel somehow managed to gain the upper hand and attacked Aziraphale? Improbable, as Aziraphale’s voice sounded far too calm and controlled for that. No, Crowley thought with a grim, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was far more likely that Crowley’s fears had been realized. 

Aziraphale had done more damage to Gabriel than he’d meant to with the new implements at his disposal - so much damage that, despite his earlier refusal, he now needed Crowley to heal it. 

To his tremendous relief, Crowley found that Gabriel... actually didn’t look all that bad. 

He was fully dressed, kneeling at Aziraphale’s side. There were no injuries visible to Crowley’s first glance, though he did notice that the French cuffs of the archangel’s shirt were hanging open, the cufflinks missing, and through the gaps in the fabric he could just barely glimpse livid red bands around Gabriel’s wrists. 

Aziraphale had used the cuffs. 

But beyond that, Gabriel actually seemed to be… _ fine _ . 

Physically, anyway. 

When Crowley’s wary inspection reached Gabriel’s  _ eyes _ … his heart sank. The haunted, fearful expression there… Gabriel’s desperate submission as he had apologized to Crowley for offering himself to Aziraphale… his panicked confusion when Crowley refused the disgusting, demeaning display Aziraphale had ordered him to perform. 

It was clear that no matter how physically whole Gabriel seemed to be… Aziraphale had  _ broken _ something in him. 

And seemed all too pleased with himself about it, too. 

His smug, challenging look, as if to say,  _ “See? I told you so!”  _ in response to Gabriel’s halting, subdued confession, was maddenly frustrating to Crowley. As if the idea that Gabriel had “offered” made it any better that Aziraphale had  _ chosen to accept _ . 

As if Gabriel had had  _ any actual choice _ . 

Impossibly, Aziraphale still seemed to have  _ no comprehension _ of just how  _ fucked up _ this all was. 

Crowley found his gaze drawn to Aziraphale’s hand, resting heavy, casually possessive, at the back of Gabriel’s neck. The instant heat of jealousy bubbled up inside him, confusingly mingled with revulsion, because he knew that if Gabriel had his choice, Aziraphale would not be touching him at all. 

And then, Crowley noticed something else - and froze, immediately distracted by the small patch of skin, red and blistered and streaked with black, on the back of Aziraphale’s hand. 

A hellfire burn. 

Despite Gabriel’s apparent condition, despite Aziraphale’s cool, composed demeanor - he had clearly used the whip. And he had clearly lost control enough to injure  _ himself  _ in the process. 

Crowley extricated himself from the disturbing proceedings as swiftly as possible, and then waited upstairs until Aziraphale arrived, alone. He looked up at Aziraphale in silent expectation, and the angel sat down beside him on the sofa, quiet and solemn. After a moment, he reached out to tentatively take Crowley’s hand. Crowley might have snatched his hand away immediately, if the gesture hadn’t afforded him a chance for a better look. 

He lifted Aziraphale’s hand a little in his own, giving the angel a pointed look. “Lost your temper with him a bit, did you?” 

“What? No!” Aziraphale waved his free hand dismissively, his tone breezy and unconcerned. “It really wasn’t so bad, Crowley. I gave him a few lashes with the whip, but nothing more. Just to... try my hand at it.” His smile went rueful and embarrassed. “Evidently, I could do with a bit more practice.” 

Crowley stared at him, aghast. “This isn’t a joke, angel.” 

“I’m not laughing.” Aziraphale’s smile faded away, and he held Crowley’s gaze with solemn eyes. “I realize the whip is dangerous, darling. That’s why I kept it to just a few blows this time. Really. Mostly, I just talked with him, Crowley, honestly. About the… changes to our procedure, from now on. That’s all. And as you can see, it was a successful conversation. He now recognizes that the way he was approaching his penance before was completely unacceptable.” 

“... Right.” Crowley studied Aziraphale’s expression closely, his mind drifting back to the disturbing display in the backroom - Gabriel’s desperate apology and his promise that it “wouldn’t happen again”. 

As if he had  _ any control whatsoever _ over whether or not that was true. 

Still holding Aziraphale’s hand, Crowley placed his other hand over it and focused his energy on the hellfire in the injury, absorbing it harmlessly into himself until Aziraphale’s hand was whole and unblemished.

Aziraphale stared down at the back of his hand, drawing in a shaky little breath, and when he looked up gratefully into Crowley’s eyes, there were tears shining there. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly at last. “I know I… I upset you before, darling. When I asked you to try on the cuffs. I - I know I frightened you, and I would  _ never  _ want to do that. I never would have kept you there against your will, I hope you know that. I just - I allowed myself to get distracted, thinking of… how much I truly do  _ miss _ you, Crowley. How much I miss… the way things were before all this.” 

Crowley was quiet, a dull ache in the back of his throat, an infuriating burn behind his eyes. 

“Me, too,” he confessed softly. 

He and Aziraphale had barely touched since the night he’d come home early and found his angel with Gabriel - not for lack of trying on Aziraphale’s part. But every time his angel attempted to put his arms around him, or draw him in close to kiss him, or gave him that hopeful, inviting  _ look _ , all Crowley could see was the expression of pleasured abandon on Aziraphale’s face, as  _ Gabriel _ knelt before him - fearful and desperate to appease him

He desperately wanted to  _ unsee _ it - to go back in time to before it had happened. 

Stopping time took a tremendous effort;  _ reversing _ it was impossible. 

“It’s my fault,” Aziraphale stated, quiet and sorrowful, his fingers lacing with Crowley’s, his thumb gently stroking the palm of Crowley’s hand. “I’ve placed this… this distance between us. And I’m going to fix it. I know I can’t - can’t undo it. Can’t go back, can only go forward from here, but… everything is going to be different now. You’ll see.” 

Crowley desperately wanted to believe him. 

But he didn’t. 

He was fairly certain that what he’d just erased from Aziraphale’s hand was evidence of a blatant lie. Aziraphale knew better than to be careless with hellfire; there was little chance he’d burned himself unless he’d lost control. The echoing image of haunted, frightened lavender eyes filled Crowley’s mind. 

He was very much afraid that Gabriel’s clothing covered a multitude of Aziraphale’s sins. 

In the days that followed, Crowley tried to trust his angel. He tried to take his words at face value, tried to let him close again - just a little. He knew Aziraphale too well to think that arguing with him, attempting to  _ force _ him to stop, would meet with any success. He needed to  _ connect _ with his angel again, if he was ever going to find a way to get through to him. 

And in the meantime, he worked at trying to find ways to make things better. Safer. For Gabriel,  _ and  _ for Aziraphale. 

Three days later, he presented Aziraphale with two newly created gifts. 

Aziraphale examined the cane appreciatively - its smooth, dark wooden surface, polished and gleaming in the light. He gave it a couple of sharp experimental swings, carefully away from Crowley, into empty air. The whistling sound of it was unsettling - as was the malicious light in his eyes, the beginnings of a smile as he held it up and gave a single nod of satisfaction. 

“And the hellfire potency?” he asked, glancing at Crowley. “Is it the same as the whip, or…?” 

“There’s no hellfire in the cane, except at the very tip,” Crowley replied, lifting the other end of the weapon up and pointing out a space about two inches long, covered by a thin, clear sheath, which Crowley pulled off and then put back on to demonstrate. “Just in case you need it, if he were to attempt to hurt you, or something.” 

The unmistakable disappointment on Aziraphale’s face was the most unsettling of all. 

“I figured you need something that’ll do less damage,” Crowley explained, feeling oddly defensive. “If you’re gonna be doing this on a regular basis. Whether he’s done anything to deserve it or not.” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment as he withdrew the cane from Crowley’s grasp, holding it by its ends in either hand, staring down at it in cold, stubborn anger. When he spoke, his voice was soft and carefully controlled. 

“I’d say over the past 6000 years, he’s racked up quite a balance due.” 

“Yes, well…” Crowley tried to focus on practical reasons, rather than attempting to talk Aziraphale out of a grudge, which he’d realized too late, had been festering for millennia. “... hellfire burns take more than a week to heal, usually. Week after week… new ones on old ones… he’s gonna need a break. Or he won’t be able to do his job in Heaven.” He was quiet for a moment. “People will notice.” 

Aziraphale sighed wearily, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re right,” he admitted grudgingly. “Of course you’re right.” 

Crowley showed Aziraphale his second gift - a pair of long gloves, designed to withstand the heat of hellfire. 

“I don’t want you handling that whip if you’re going to hurt yourself,” he said, unable to keep the resignation from his voice. “You shouldn’t have to use it as much now, anyway.” He nodded toward the cane. “But these will protect your hands from the hellfire, when you do use it.” 

He wished that Aziraphale would not use it at all, but his response to the cane had been… less than enthusiastic. Crowley briefly, wistfully entertained the notion of simply making the cursed whip  _ disappear _ \- but he got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought of how Aziraphale might react to that. 

He’d be… well, he’d be bloody  _ furious _ . 

He was disturbingly fond of his new little toy already. No, Aziraphale wouldn’t be giving up the hellfire whip any time soon. 

And until he did, Crowley wanted to at least ensure that he was safe. 

When he understood the purpose of the gloves, Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, his expression softening. There was regret in his eyes, as if he’d all of a sudden realized what an  _ utter ass _ he’d been about the first gift. 

“Thank you, my dear,” he said softly, moving in cautiously close to Crowley, setting his hands gently at his waist. “You are so good to me,” he murmured. “Better than I deserve.” 

Crowley allowed the contact, giving his angel a single, slow nod, one eyebrow lifted in a dubious expression that hopefully told Aziraphale just how completely he agreed with that assessment. After a moment, Crowley lifted his own arms to return Aziraphale’s embrace, while still holding him just a bit at a distance. 

“Not sure how you’re gonna explain those gloves to  _ him _ ,” he pointed out after a moment’s consideration. 

Aziraphale tilted his head thoughtfully, eyes narrowed, before smiling up at Crowley. “I may have an idea or two.” 

Crowley didn’t think he wanted to know what those ideas were. 

He hoped that his gifts would help. That Aziraphale would choose the cane more often than the whip. If Gabriel continued to be as submissive and cooperative as he’d appeared during his last visit, Crowley thought it was just possible that Aziraphale’s lust for power over him, for vengeance against him, would be sated. 

Or, at the very least… he’d get  _ bored _ . 

As much as he hated the thought, he’d seen enough of systematic torture, enough of vicious psychological manipulation and deliberate, casual cruelty - on Earth as well as in Hell - to know: there was little fun to be had in beating someone who was already broken. 

And… Gabriel was beginning to look  _ pretty damned broken _ . 

_ A couple more weeks, maybe, like this… just a bit more time, and it’ll be enough. Aziraphale will lose interest, and he’ll come back to himself.  _

_ He’ll come back to me.  _

But that didn’t happen as Crowley hoped, because four days later at the appointed time…  _ Gabriel _ didn’t come back  _ at all _ . 

Crowley sat on the sofa, a hollow uneasiness in his chest, watching Aziraphale pace furiously back and forth near the upstairs window, casting the occasional fretful glance down at the street below. 

“Didn’t hurt him that much, eh?” Crowley allowed the suspicions he’d been harboring to make his tone flat and skeptical. 

“Apparently I didn’t hurt him  _ enough _ ,” Aziraphale seethed, soft hands clenched into trembling fists as he visibly wrestled to rein in his fury. “I told you, Crowley, I wasn’t being too hard on him. He’s been quite difficult and defiant lately. And if he thinks he can get away with  _ this _ , well…” He shook his head, letting out a low, dark little laugh. “... there’s no reason he’d bother coming back again.” He looked up at Crowley. “Until he comes with an army.” 

The greater part of Crowley was actually quite  _ relieved _ that Gabriel hadn’t shown up - but Aziraphale’s words made him feel sick with apprehension, reminded of Aziraphale’s original claims. 

Now that this thing had been  _ started _ …

_ You started it. Your fault. Never would have happened if not for you… _

… Gabriel  _ had to be _ kept under control. 

Aziraphale spent the days following Gabriel’s missed visit obsessing over the archangel’s absence. It seemed that every other word out of his mouth related to Gabriel in some way - guessing as to what might have prompted his decision not to come, speculating as to what he might do next if Aziraphale didn’t stop him… but mostly, attempting to come up with some way to get him back to the bookshop. 

Aziraphale spent hours in study, sometimes in the apartment or the shop, but mostly sitting at that bare desk of his in the backroom - which was increasingly less bare, as Aziraphale perused book after book looking for some means of bringing Gabriel back under his control. Crowley gave him the space to do so, and didn’t try to talk him out of it. 

He was worried, too, about what Gabriel might do. 

_ Maybe he’ll just stay away. Cut his losses and decide it’s wisest not to come around at all.  _

_ Or maybe… he’ll want a little payback of his own.  _

Crowley didn’t know whether to hope that Aziraphale would find what he was looking for… or that he wouldn’t. 

He prepared a steaming cup of hot tea, just the way he knew Aziraphale liked it, and carefully carried it down the stairs to the backroom, where Aziraphale had been holed up with his books for about a day without emerging. He knocked softly with one hand, then opened the door and went to Aziraphale, who was sitting at the desk with his head resting in one hand. 

Crowley set the tea down and put a silently supportive hand on his angel’s shoulder. 

Aziraphale looked up at him with a weary, grateful smile, picking up the cup of tea and taking an appreciative sip. “I think I’ve found it,” he said as he set the cup back down. 

Crowley felt an utterly confusing mingled sense of relief and dread. 

“Found what?” 

“The way to  _ make  _ him return,” Aziraphale declared. “To ensure he knows he can’t avoid me so easily. I can get to him anytime I like.” 

Crowley frowned. “Can you?” 

There were moments like this, deeply unsettling moments in which Aziraphale seemed to have lost himself in his own lies, in the illusion of a power that didn’t  _ actually  _ belong to him. 

Aziraphale smiled, conspiratorial, very pleased with himself. “I believe that I can,” he said. “I can summon him here.” 

Crowley blinked. “Summon an archangel,” he echoed, doubtful. “Not sure that’s ever been successfully done before.” 

“Not that I’ve heard of,” Aziraphale agreed. “All known attempts have failed. But then… I believe I know why.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Leave the summoning to me. There’s something else I’d like you to help me with.” 

He beckoned Crowley in closer with one hand, turning pages in the book before him with the other, before drawing Crowley’s attention to an illustration. It was a very old-fashioned drawing of an intricately designed matching bracelet and ring. Crowley leaned in close, his fingers brushing across the picture as he read the description of what the magical objects were meant to do. 

As he read, a sick feeling built in the pit of his stomach. 

It was tethering magic with some rather dark, ominous properties. He didn’t want to do a thing like this - not to Gabriel, not to anyone. It felt terribly cruel and underhanded and, well… deeply  _ unfair _ . 

And Crowley didn’t exactly want the archangel  _ tethered _ to  _ his angel _ , at all. 

_ But… Aziraphale’s right. We have to do  _ something. 

And it wasn’t as if any  _ other  _ options had presented themselves. 

“I’d try it myself,” Aziraphale said quietly, his eyes focused on the page, his fingers brushing against Crowley’s where they touched it. “But it’s meant to control angels, and… I believe that means it requires  _ infernal  _ magic?” 

“Pretty sure it works best that way, yeah,” Crowley agreed with a sigh. 

Abruptly he picked up the book from the desk, dog-earing the page to mark the correct spot before closing it. He relished the brief flash of distress across Aziraphale’s face, the way his lips parted with dismay as he stared at the folded page - then tried to hide his reaction behind a bright smile as he looked back up at Crowley. 

_ Tough luck, angel. I’m not exactly thrilled with all  _ your _ choices lately, either.  _

Crowley feigned innocence, returning the smile. “I think I can miracle up something like this,” he affirmed. “Maybe update it a bit, make it a little less… eye-catching.” 

He took the book and left the room, his brief moment of petty satisfaction outweighed by the heavy sense of foreboding that fell over him as his thoughts came into focus on just what exactly it was that he was about to do. 

To protect himself and his angel - Crowley was going to have to  _ enslave _ Gabriel.

******************************************************************************************

Aziraphale tried very hard not to think about the damage Crowley had just done to his book - or how carelessly he was likely to handle it while working with it. He reassured himself with the knowledge that whatever damage Crowley had done or would do, he could easily miracle it away once the book was back in his own hands. 

But… it wouldn’t be as if it had never happened. He would always know that the damage was there, beneath the miracle. 

_ Never mind _ , he told himself. If his petty little jibe made Crowley feel better, it was worth it - and Aziraphale had more important things to worry about at the moment. 

He had an archangel to summon. 

It had been tried before, of course, many times, with no recorded success. But his extensive study of such rituals over the past few days had led Aziraphale to a conclusion as to just where past would-be summoners had gone wrong. Every summoning ritual that he knew of, for summoning any sort of creature, required one specific element that, for an archangel, no human being could possibly have. 

He took the whip from the drawer where he kept it, setting it with the other supplies he’d assembled in a neat collection on the corner of the desk. 

A bit of hair, a scrap of his shirt, would probably have done in a pinch. Anything that really  _ belonged _ to Gabriel. 

Aziraphale smiled. 

He couldn’t imagine  _ anything _ could be more effective than the archangel’s  _ blood _ . 

Several hours passed before Crowley returned with Aziraphale’s book - the dog-eared place restored to pristine perfection, Aziraphale noticed with a rush of affection, and a warm sense of reassurance. 

Crowley  _ couldn’t possibly _ stay angry with him  _ forever _ . 

Crowley held out his hand, palm up, and in it lay a delicate gold ring, set with tiny blue stones. Aziraphale took it carefully, examining its aesthetic beauty with pleasure before sliding it onto his finger. Crowley reached into his pocket and took out the matching piece - not the bracelet Aziraphale had expected, but a watch. Silver at its core, with gold entwined around it, the face set with blue stones to match the ones in the ring. 

“More his style, yeah?” Crowley pointed out. “Sure to draw less attention up there than that gaudy bracelet would have done.” 

_ My clever boy.  _

Aziraphale gave Crowley a warm, appreciative smile. He loved him so much, was so very proud of him and grateful to him in that moment. And however upset with him Crowley might have been, the watch… the gloves… the fact that in spite of his hurt and anger, Crowley was  _ still here _ , still close at Aziraphale’s side and looking out for his well-being…

Crowley still loved him, too. 

They were going to be all right. 

“Stunning work, my love,” Aziraphale said, his words touched with reverent pleasure. “Quite lovely.” 

He carefully tapped the black, blank face of the watch - and it lit up, displaying a series of numbers - 00:00:00. 

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “Oh, my.” 

“Said I’d update it a bit,” Crowley reminded him, sounding a bit self-conscious. “Modernized the design.” 

“It’s perfect,” Aziraphale assured him, pouring every ounce of his adoration into the radiant smile he gave Crowley. “Thank you, my darling.” 

“Had to be done.” Crowley shrugged a little, not quite making eye contact. He still seemed a bit uncomfortable with Aziraphale’s more gushing displays of affection. Aziraphale suppressed the sense of disappointment he felt at that, keeping his warm smile on his face. 

They’d get there. Just a little more time. 

Crowley’s words registered in Aziraphale’s mind, and his smile faded a little. He cleared his throat, searching for just the right words. 

“Speaking of things that… must be done,” he said, grim and regretful. “No matter how unpleasant…”

Crowley’s eyes darted up to his, wary and solemn. 

Carefully, Aziraphale proceeded. “You understand that, once I summon him here… I’m going to have to send a  _ very clear _ message. Make him understand in no uncertain terms that what he’s done is  _ completely _ unacceptable.” 

Crowley was quiet for a moment. “You’re going to hurt him,” he clarified, flat and disapproving. “More than before.” 

Everything in Aziraphale wanted to look away from the stark, knowing expression in Crowley’s eyes - the quiet accusation. He forced himself to hold Crowley’s gaze, unapologetic. 

“It’s the only way to ensure that we are safe.” 

Crowley’s jaw set with resentment, but then he sighed, turning his head away. 

“You’re welcome to observe as always, darling,” Aziraphale offered, barely hesitant - because he knew that Crowley wouldn’t want to. “If you think it would make you feel better about it.” He paused, his tone darkly certain when he concluded, “But, I can assure you… it won’t.” 

Crowley winced a little. “I don’t want to observe,” he said quietly, and utterly unsurprisingly to Aziraphale. “But… I do have one condition.” 

Aziraphale was fairly certain from Crowley’s tone that he wasn’t going to  _ like _ his “condition” - and once he’d heard it, his suspicions were confirmed. 

He  _ didn’t _ like it. 

But he needed to do anything in his power to rebuild the trust between them - to make Crowley feel as if he had some control over  _ something _ in this situation, so that he’d be more comfortable with it. He could give Crowley this one thing - this small mercy in the midst of Gabriel’s judgment, that might make it just the slightest bit more palatable to the demon’s startlingly soft heart. 

And, Crowley’s condition had the added benefit of allowing Aziraphale to act with less restraint, so… there was that. 

“All right,” he agreed cautiously. “But we must make it quite clear that it’s  _ your _ will, not mine. Can’t have him thinking I’m soft.” 

Crowley’s pained little wince at those words made Aziraphale’s heart ache - but the demon acquiesced with a single, solemn nod, and the deal was struck. 

“I’m ready now, if you are, dear,” Aziraphale said, an apologetic note in his voice. “I do think it would be a good idea if we were  _ both _ present when he arrives.” 

Crowley nodded in grudging agreement, and followed Aziraphale out to the large empty space in the middle of the bookshop floor. 

Aziraphale had given a lot of thought to  _ presentation _ when it came to his plans for this night. 

He made the requisite summoning circle on the floor in chalk. It was really all that was necessary, besides the tiny vial of deep red flecks he’d collected from the whip - the tiny piece of the archangel’s essence that would draw him back to this place. 

The candles, the herbs, the extra decorative flourishes he’d drawn along the edges of the circle - the lights and smoke he fully intended to miracle into being as Gabriel arrived - it was all merely window dressing, designed to awe and intimidate a creature who’d never been summoned before and had no idea how rather, well…  _ uninspired _ it all was. 

An illusion of power… a miraculous display of force… to precede the  _ memorable _ lesson Aziraphale intended to administer tonight. A memory that would return to Gabriel’s mind any time in the future that he might think of attempting to defy Aziraphale again. 

As Aziraphale had expected, the blood was the key. 

The summoning ritual worked perfectly, and Gabriel appeared in the center of the circle amidst the lights and smoke, staggering a little, disoriented by the sudden shift in his reality. He blinked, startled, trying to get his vision to come into focus. And when it did, his eyes went wide with confusion… and then sheer terror. 

He took a couple of stumbling steps backward, his body hitting the invisible barrier at the edge of the circle with a jarring impact. He spun around and pushed at it, then pounded it with his fists, before spinning around to face Aziraphale, his chest heaving with his rapid, panicked breaths. 

Aziraphale regarded him with quiet composure, patiently waiting for him to calm down. His words were soft and even, a regretful observation. 

“You should have simply done as you were told.” 

“No.” Gabriel shook his head rapidly, in denial. “No, you can’t do this.  _ Let me go _ !” he demanded, taking a step toward the edge of the barrier nearest Aziraphale and slamming his fist uselessly into the invisible wall. 

Beside him, Crowley flinched a little at the impact, and Aziraphale gave him a pointed look. He was somewhat  _ glad _ of Gabriel’s behavior - glad for Crowley to see the evidence that proved Aziraphale’s claim: Gabriel needed  _ more _ discipline, not less. He returned his gaze to Gabriel and smiled, cold disgust in the twist of his mouth as he retrieved the cuffs from inside his jacket. He held them up for a moment where Gabriel could see them, before tossing them into the circle at the archangel’s feet. 

Gabriel looked down at them, then back up at Aziraphale. There was fear in his eyes, but a stubborn set to his mouth. 

“ _ No _ .” 

Aziraphale’s hands  _ itched _ to slap his insolent face, to strike him down with the whip until he couldn’t stand. He kept his fury under control for the moment; there would be time later, after he’d brought the situation - and  _ Gabriel _ \- back under his control. 

“You’ll kneel and put them on,” he stated calmly. “Right now.” He paused, meeting the fierce desperation in Gabriel’s eyes with a cold smile. “Or I’ll fill the circle with hellfire and watch you burn.” 

Aziraphale saw out of the corner of his eye as Crowley’s head snapped up and he stared at Aziraphale in alarm. He did not turn or do anything to draw Gabriel’s attention to the demon’s reaction. He was well aware that if such a threat were to be carried out, Crowley would have to be the one to do it. He hoped he’d be willing to do so, if necessary, for Aziraphale. 

It didn’t really matter all that much; Aziraphale had no intention of burning the archangel alive. 

He wasn’t nearly finished with him yet. 

He watched, quiet and composed, as Gabriel faltered a little. He could see Gabriel’s resolve crumbling, as his lips parted to protest - once, a second time - but nothing came out. 

“I’ll…  _ control _ the rate at which it burns,” Aziraphale mused, soft and thoughtful, as if only just deciding as he spoke. His eyes trailed slowly up and down the length of the invisible column that held Gabriel inside, before smiling brightly at Gabriel again. “Did you know that was a thing that I can do?” He allowed his smile to fade a little, his eyes cold and menacing. “I’ll make quite certain that the process goes…  _ slowly _ .” 

Gabriel didn’t quite manage to disguise his flinch. A convulsive swallow was visible in his throat as he hesitated just a few moments longer… before dropping to his knees. He lowered his head, staring down at the cuffs, and Aziraphale was glad that he missed Crowley’s visible reaction of relief - his shoulders falling as he ran a hand down over his face, releasing a shaky sigh. 

Gabriel looked up at Aziraphale with fierce, desperate defiance. 

Aziraphale gave him a warm smile and an encouraging little nod. 

Gabriel picked up the cuffs and stared at them for a long moment, before his shoulders fell in defeated resignation. With trembling hands, he locked them onto his own wrists - then swayed a little, steadying himself with a hand against the floor as his power was siphoned away from him. Immediately, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the walls of the summoning circle fell. His smile vanished, and he met the archangel’s dazed, fearful gaze with cold command. 

“Get up and go prepare for your punishment.” 

***************************************************************************************

_ Punishment.  _

Not  _ penance _ . 

Gabriel’s stomach churned with dread. 

This was not going to be the usual routine of confession and repentance, acknowledgement of and then payment for past sins. 

This was going to be  _ so much worse _ . 

Gabriel’s heart raced as he made his way to the backroom, acutely aware of the two pairs of eyes watching him as he went. He wanted to run, but he knew it’d be useless. With the cuffs on his wrists, he’d get no farther than a human could before Aziraphale would easily subdue him - and he’d have brought just that littlest bit  _ more _ suffering onto himself in the process. 

_ Stupid. Should have just come when he said to come. Shouldn’t have tried to escape, there _ is  _ no escape, you fucking fool... _

Gabriel entered the backroom and stood facing the desk. There was a new item there now, a thin, wooden cane. He shivered, imagining the feel of it coming down across his back. It was almost certainly imbued with hellfire, like the whip - which was nowhere in sight. He stared at the cane for a long time, mentally debating whether it would be better or worse than the lash. 

He would find out soon enough. 

There was little question. He could submit himself completely, apologize for his defiance, plead for mercy - none of it would matter. Punishment was certain. His barely healed nerve endings still remembered the pain of the last time - the tears and the shame still thick, solid things with substance in his memory. 

He wasn’t sure he could do it again. 

And… he wasn’t sure that he  _ should _ . 

_ Won’t fix anything. Won’t change anything. Aziraphale’s going to do what he’s going to do - either way. _

When Gabriel heard the sound of footsteps behind him, followed by the closing of the door, he was still fully dressed, still facing the desk, still on his feet. He drew in a breath and slowly turned to face Aziraphale. 

He did  _ not _ look pleased. 

He gave Gabriel a cool, appraising look, eyebrows raised. “Well,” he remarked, his tone deceptively mild. “You are  _ quite _ in need of a lesson, aren’t you?” 

“I’ve been doing everything you say.” Gabriel held Aziraphale’s gaze with quiet challenge. “I’ve been humbling myself. Obeying your commands, every one. And… you still…” His words failed him, shame heating his face in spite of his resolve, and he looked away, swallowing thickly. “Last time…”

“Was a time you’ll look back on fondly as a merciful memory, before I’m through with you tonight.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched, and he fought back the overwhelming sense of panic. Aziraphale stood between him and the door. There was no escape. He couldn’t overpower Aziraphale. He was completely trapped. 

But... that was true no matter  _ what  _ he did. 

“Kneel,” Aziraphale ordered.

Gabriel lifted his eyes to meet Aziraphale’s gaze again. He remained where he stood. 

“ _ Kneel _ , Gabriel,” Aziraphale repeated, his soft tone unchanged. “I won’t ask again.” 

Gabriel didn’t look away, and he didn’t move. 

Aziraphale sighed, as if in mild disappointment. A beckoning motion of his hand brought the cuffs several yards forward across the room toward Aziraphale - dragging Gabriel along with them. A swift, elegant gesture, a downward flick of his wrist, caused the cuffs to shoot down to the floor and fasten themselves into place there, locked together in front of Gabriel and holding him down. He struggled to get as far as his knees, from the awkward, half-sprawled position he’d landed in, desperately, uselessly struggling to pull his wrists free. 

Aziraphale watched his efforts for a moment before walking slowly, calmly past him to the desk. He opened the top drawer, and retrieved a pair of gloves - white with metallic silver embellishments up and down the length of them, long enough to cover his forearms, soft and flexible. 

Gabriel went still as Aziraphale approached him, eyeing the gloves warily as Aziraphale meticulously rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, and then put on the gloves with careful, delicate precision. 

“Are those…” he began, his words coming out hoarse and halting. “... are they hellfire, too?” 

Aziraphale gave him a look of amusement. “Why would I need hellfire gloves?” 

_ Stupid question.  _

Gabriel lowered his gaze, his face flushing with shame. 

“No, quite the contrary,” Aziraphale explained. “You see, Gabriel, last time, in hindsight I felt I was a bit too hard on you.”

Gabriel looked up at him in surprise, and Aziraphale nodded a little, a silent confirmation of the unlikely statement as he crouched down facing him. 

“I lost control, I’ll admit, in my anger at your rebellious demeanor,” he confessed, in a hushed, private tone. “And when I was examining your injuries after… when I was healing them… I believe I saw a few that…” He grimaced. “Well, I’m not sure they came from the whip.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched with alarm at the thought. Aziraphale had lost control of his own hellfire powers in his anger, enough to burn Gabriel with them without actually meaning to. It made sense, really. Aziraphale had not  _ always _ possessed these mysterious powers; they were relatively new to him - and perhaps not entirely under his control. 

“I acquired these in preparation for this week’s visit,” Aziraphale explained, “because they’re hellfire-resistant.” 

He reached out to touch Gabriel’s face, the silky fabric of the glove soft against his skin. Gabriel jerked away from the invasively intimate touch. Aziraphale’s eyes went hard.

“I’m wearing them now because, after what you’ve done… the utter defiance you’ve displayed… I’m  _ so very angry _ with you right now that I’m afraid if I touched you without them, I’d likely destroy you. And I’ve no intention of that, Gabriel. No… I’m giving you the  _ chance _ to change. To make things right. Which is far more grace than you  _ ever _ afforded  _ me _ .” 

Gabriel suppressed a shiver at the soft, cold menace in Aziraphale’s measured words. He resisted the instinct to look away, holding Aziraphale’s gaze in quiet defiance. 

Aziraphale straightened and returned to the desk. When he turned back to face Gabriel again, the cane was in his hands. He turned it idly between his fingers, regarding it thoughtfully, and Gabriel braced himself for the impending punishment. 

“This has no trace of hellfire, either,” Aziraphale informed him, and Gabriel eyed it with startled suspicion. “After seeing your injuries last time, I decided that perhaps hellfire is a bit…  _ extreme _ for ordinary penance. It’d be better to have an implement without it. Safer. For  _ you _ .” 

Gabriel could feel his glare, but his eyes remained focused on the cane as Aziraphale placed it into the same drawer from which he’d taken the gloves, and took out the whip instead. When last Gabriel had seen it, it had been cast into the corner of the room, streaked with his blood. Now, it was clean, poised in Aziraphale’s hand, shimmering with the faint light of the hellfire that suffused its surface. Aziraphale gave him a soft, anticipatory smile as he closed the drawer and turned to face him fully. 

“But this is not a night for ordinary penance. Is it?” 

Gabriel thought back to the last time he’d knelt in this room, how he’d pleaded for mercy, how he’d tried desperately to do  _ everything _ to please Aziraphale - and still received only brutality in return. Frustration rose up within him, and he pulled uselessly at the restraints that held him on his knees, helpless. 

“Punishment,” he echoed the word Aziraphale had used, glaring up at him. “Just for trying to  _ stay away _ from you?” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve to be punished,” he declared. “All I want is for you to leave me alone.” 

Aziraphale’s mouth went taut with restrained anger. “Well, you don’t get to decide, Gabriel…”

“And you do?” The challenging words were past his lips before Gabriel could think to stop them - and he didn’t  _ want _ to stop them. 

This wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this, and he wasn’t going to simply quietly accept it - not tonight. 

Not anymore. 

“How do  _ you _ decide, Aziraphale?” he demanded. “I come here week after week and I obey your orders and make the changes you want and kneel and confess and you  _ still  _ beat the shit out of me, and keep saying I  _ deserve _ it, I’m a sinner, but I’ve  _ been _ humbling myself. I’ve been  _ obedient _ .” He held his palms up, shaking his head in frustration. “When am I -  _ redeemed _ , in this plan of yours? When is it  _ enough _ ?” 

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough!” Aziraphale snarled, his fist flexing around the handle of the whip. 

Gabriel’s eyes were drawn to it, but his own anger was brimming over now, beyond his control. Weeks of frustration and fear and helplessness welled up within him, spilling over into words. 

“What gives you the right to decide?” 

“The  _ ones you’ve sinned against _ decide when you’ve paid enough!” Aziraphale hissed a scathing accusation. 

Gabriel regarded him dubiously, feeling an old familiar sense of contempt for him rising up within him. “And that’s…  _ you _ .” 

Aziraphale glared down at him for a moment before averting his eyes, and Gabriel felt a swift swell of satisfaction. Aziraphale’s voice remained cool, but there was a tremor behind the calm facade he struggled to affect. 

“I’d say I make a fairly adequate stand-in.” 

“For  _ Her _ ?” A sense of outrage overwhelmed Gabriel, anger rising up in him on behalf of the Lord Aziraphale claimed to speak for. “Oh, not even  _ close _ , Sunshine!” he sneered. “I’d be  _ really careful _ if I were you, because that’s awfully close to blasphemy!” 

“Not for Her,” Aziraphale snapped, his voice low and trembling with rage as he took a step into Gabriel’s space, glaring down at him. “For every human whose life you’ve treated as insignificant. Every angel you’ve berated and made to feel like worthless refuse because of a simple mistake or two! Every being you’ve  _ wronged _ in your  _ sinful self-focus _ !” 

It all clicked into place in Gabriel’s mind, with total clarity - and it was just as he’d suspected. 

“This is personal,” he realized, shaking his head slowly as he took in the suddenly trapped, guilty expression in Aziraphale’s wide blue eyes. His voice rose with his pent up frustration, an angry accusation as he went on. “This isn’t about  _ my sins _ . This is about  _ you _ , and your wounded  _ pride _ and your  _ fucking ego _ that couldn’t take a  _ well-deserved reprimand _ now and then!” He laughed, bitter and mocking. “This is you throwing an extended tantrum over a sucky  _ performance review _ .” 

Aziraphale’s entire body shook with rage. His eyes blazed with fury, flashing with angelic power, the tails of the whip in his hand rustling, his free hand clenched into a fist at his side. The fury that had overwhelmed Gabriel, that had forced its way out in a tumultuous rush, now flagged with the renewed realization of his defenselessness and the sinking certainty that his brutal honesty had pushed Aziraphale too far. 

A slow, bitter smile spread across Aziraphale’s face, a light of malicious intent. His voice was a low hiss of vindictive fury. 

“Here’s your  _ performance review _ .” 

He drew back the whip, and brought it down sharply across Gabriel’s face. 

Gabriel’s breath was driven from him by the pain and the impact of the blow, and he collapsed onto his side, tethered by his bound wrists. He tried to right himself, tried to pull himself back up, struggling through the pain. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. Before Gabriel could even register the fact that his clothing had all vanished, Aziraphale was behind him, one strong hand clutching his throat and yanking him back, crouching down close to speak into his ear. 

“She doesn’t have to tell me Her will. Because I’ve been witness to the worst of your sins. I’ve  _ experienced _ them. You speak to me of  _ pride _ and  _ ego _ ,” he snarled in disgust. “You, with your ridiculous vanity, your arrogant certainty  _ even now _ that  _ you’re _ the one who should be in control!” He let go of Gabriel’s throat and stood up straight, stepping back to deliver several vicious, breath-stealing blows in swift succession, falling with searing agony across Gabriel’s shoulders, back, legs, not quite recovered from the last beating he’d taken. One blow glanced off the bottoms of Gabriel’s feet, and he let out a sharp gasp. 

“Are you  _ in control _ , Gabriel?” Aziraphale shouted, enraged. 

Gabriel bit his lip and didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could have formed words anyway, through the pain, but he had no intention of giving Aziraphale the satisfaction of his surrender. 

But Aziraphale kept on, striking blow after blow with the whip, layering hellfire burns atop each other, until the pain was all-consuming, lightning streaks of icy flame tearing into Gabriel’s flesh, igniting every nerve. 

Aziraphale stopped for a moment, standing over Gabriel, gripping his hair and yanking his head up, holding the blood-streaked whip dangerously near to his face, and biting off sharp, warning words. 

“Are you. In  _ control _ .” 

“ _ No _ ,” Gabriel admitted, resentfully glaring up at Aziraphale through tears of pain. 

“Who is?” Aziraphale demanded. 

“ _ She _ is,” Gabriel shot back at him, defiant. “And you’d better  _ hope _ you’re right about me, because if you’re not…” 

His fierce warning was cut off by another blow, not from the whip, but from Aziraphale’s fist across his face. 

“I  _ am _ ,” Aziraphale declared. 

The brutal beating continued until the only sounds in the room were the harsh breath of Aziraphale’s exertion, and the swing and crack of the lash. Gabriel was bowed over his bound hands, his head pressed against them to protect his face, too weakened and exhausted to even cry out. 

At last, Aziraphale seemed to run out of strength, casting the whip down a few feet from Gabriel, and then crouching down, drawing in heavy gasps as he tried to catch his breath. He reached out and ran a hand through Gabriel’s hair, soaked and matted with blood and sweat. 

Gabriel was too exhausted even to try to pull away. 

“In this room,” Aziraphale repeated, soft, breathless. “In this moment… who is in control?” 

Gabriel remained stubbornly silent. 

Aziraphale’s hand left Gabriel’s hair, to rake his fingers hard down Gabriel’s torn back, no doubt staining his pristine white gloves deep crimson. 

It was the very last bit of agony that Gabriel could take. 

_ “You are.”  _ He ground out the words, resentful, the last shreds of his defiance shining through the tears that choked him. 

Aziraphale’s hand returned to his hair, stroking through it, approval in his weary words. 

“You’re damned right, I am.” 

He gripped a handful of Gabriel’s hair and shoved his head down, hard, as he rose to his feet, his footsteps heavy and slow as he moved around to kneel behind Gabriel, his legs on either side of Gabriel’s penning him in, holding him in place. Aziraphale’s gloved hands, faintly damp and sticky with blood, came to rest firmly on Gabriel’s hips. 

“Not you,” Aziraphale muttered, emphatic. “Not  _ Crowley _ …”

Through the haze of pain, Gabriel realized with a shock of alarm what Aziraphale was doing. He jerked against the restraints at his wrists, rising up and shoving back, trying to push Aziraphale away from him. The drag of his ravaged flesh against Aziraphale’s clothing ignited a fresh wave of pain, but he ignored it, fighting desperately to push him away. 

“ _ No _ !” he cried out, struggling as Aziraphale’s hands grasped at him, firmly wrapping around him and attempting to get a good enough grip to hold him in place. “No,  _ stop _ !” 

Aziraphale placed one gloved hand firmly across Gabriel’s mouth, holding him back firmly against Aziraphale’s body. Gabriel tried to pull away, but it was a useless fight. He was battered and weak from pain and blood loss. Aziraphale was stronger than him because of the cuffs that bound his angelic power. Still he fought with frantic desperation, trying to shift his mouth out from under Aziraphale’s hand long enough to cry out again. 

And then, Aziraphale’s other hand was in front of his face - bare, the glove discarded. 

Gabriel’s heart hammered in his chest as Aziraphale ran the backs of his fingers down the side of Gabriel’s face in a gentle caress that was a clear, terrifying threat. 

Gabriel froze completely in Aziraphale’s grasp. 

“There we are. Yes. That’s better,” Aziraphale said, soft and soothing, his bare hand cupping Gabriel’s jaw and pushing his head back. “Be still. Quiet.” 

Panic clawed its way up Gabriel’s throat, choking him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move - utterly, agonizingly aware of how helpless he was, how little he could do to stop this from happening. 

He could do  _ nothing _ to stop this from happening. 

The last traces of his defiance fled him in the face of the realization of his worst fears. 

“Don’t,” he pleaded, soft and desperate. “Aziraphale, please… please don’t…”

Aziraphale’s bare hand pressed down over his mouth, warm and firm, dragging Gabriel’s head back against his shoulder and speaking quietly into his ear. 

“ _ Hush _ .” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: graphic non-con this chapter 
> 
> Also... please don't hate Crowley, y'all. He's making a lot of mistakes but he's basically trying to minimize the damage as much as possible while not betraying his angel and probably getting him killed. :( 
> 
> He's messing up. A lot. And he'll have to pay for it, and make up for it, and deal with the guilt of it. 
> 
> But... give him a chance to get there? 
> 
> *protectively shields confused/lovesick snake demon* 
> 
> Okay... "enjoy" the chapter? If that's a possible thing with this one? :-/

“ _ Hush _ …”

Gabriel couldn’t breathe, much less make a sound. 

Terror had him frozen in Aziraphale’s grip. Cruel, grasping fingers against his face agitated the searing burns from the lash, sending a fresh wave of pain crashing over him - but all he could focus on was the threat of further suffering the touch represented. 

Aziraphale had lost control last time - had burned his back with hellfire from the hands that held Gabriel fast now - one locked tightly over his mouth, the other firm at his hip, holding him in place. 

“You’re going to be very good and very quiet, aren’t you, Gabriel?” Aziraphale whispered against his ear. “You’re going to stop all this nonsense and behave yourself for me.” 

All the fierce resistance Gabriel had felt mere minutes earlier seemed to have evaporated in an instant, like a misty spectre that might never have actually been there at all. The archangel found himself slipping back into the pattern of the past few weeks - a pattern of submission and surrender. He tried his best to relax his body in Aziraphale’s grasp, nodding in acceptance of his command. 

“Very good.” Aziraphale’s hand softened on Gabriel’s mouth, sliding down to caress along his jawline, before shifting downward to wrap around his chest and pull him in flush against Aziraphale’s body. “That’s very good, my dear…”

The unfamiliar endearment was unbearably gentle, like the intimate slide of Aziraphale’s bare fingers over Gabriel’s body, skating teasingly across his skin, seeking out with effortless precision all the places where Gabriel had never before been touched. 

The hot, sick feeling of shame overwhelmed him, along with a stifling sense of  _ panic _ , and Gabriel tugged uselessly against the cuffs, his hands clenched into tight, trembling fists. He shook his head a little, swallowing back a sob. 

“Please,” he whispered, his voice pitched low in a vain attempt to disguise the tremor in his words. “Aziraphale… please don’t…” 

“Shh.” Aziraphale’s hand locked around his throat in an iron grip, drawing his head back, his words a soft, icy warning. “You don’t want to make me angry again, do you?” 

Gabriel shook his head, his heart sinking with despair, even as a desperate tumult of halting, unsteady words poured from his lips. 

“No, I - I don’t. I’m sorry, I should never have said those things, I’m sorry. I get it. You’re in charge, okay? You’re in control, please, you don’t have to do this, Aziraphale, no,  _ don’t do this _ …”

Aziraphale’s hand tightened against his throat, Gabriel’s words broken off in a choked, desperate sob. The bitter malice in Aziraphale’s silken whisper sent a shiver down Gabriel’s spine. 

“You  _ do not _ tell me what to do.  _ Never _ again.” 

Gabriel shook his head, almost frantic. “No, I - I’m sorry,” he gasped out. 

Aziraphale’s hand left his throat, but Gabriel’s breath remained trapped there, utter panic seizing him as Aziraphale’s thumb brushed lightly across his parted, trembling lips, then pushed just a little past them, hooking inside Gabriel’s mouth and dragging his head back, turning it to the side, to force him to meet the cruel light in Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“If you cannot  _ stop talking _ ,” Aziraphale stated, soft and excessively patient, an incongruously warm smile on his lips. “Then I’ll have to find a way to help you. Am I going to need to do that, my dear?” 

Gabriel shook his head as much as he could, hot tears of terror and humiliation burning in his eyes, sliding down his face as Aziraphale finally withdrew his hand, brushing his fingertips across Gabriel’s cheek to collect them. 

Gabriel closed his eyes, swallowing hard, struggling to regain his composure. 

“There we are, that’s better,” Aziraphale murmured, guiding Gabriel’s head back onto his shoulder with gentle, caressing fingertips, stroking soothingly through his hair. “Just like that. Don’t move… don’t fight.” 

Gabriel did his best to obey, as Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him from behind, oddly steadying, one holding him in place while the other resumed his viciously gentle exploration of Gabriel’s body. Gabriel’s arms ached with tension, pulled tight against his restraints through no deliberate action of his own. A fine tremor ran through his body, but he did his best to keep still, to keep silent and simply tolerate the unwelcome hands on his bruised, burning body. 

Then, Aziraphale’s hand slid down the cleft of his ass, a single finger plunging roughly inside, breaching a barrier that had never been passed before. It  _ hurt _ , and Gabriel let out an indignant cry of pained protest, instinctively struggling to move away from the invasion. 

Aziraphale’s gloved hand caught a handful of Gabriel’s hair, jerking hard in a painful warning, his words a menacing snarl in Gabriel’s ear. 

“Now would be a  _ really terrible _ time for me to _ lose my temper  _ with you.” 

Gabriel shuddered, fresh tears flowing down his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely daring to breathe out the words. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” 

“Crowley does not decide what happens in this room,” Aziraphale reiterated, soft and secretive, as his hand left Gabriel’s hair to cup his throat, a gently warning, restraining pressure. “But he  _ did not _ want this. This…  _ act _ that you’ve  _ driven _ me to.” A hard, accusing edge crept into his voice, and Gabriel shivered. “And we are  _ not _ going to throw it in his face. Are we?” 

“No, sir…” Gabriel shook his head, the words escaping his lips in a soft, breathless sob. “No… no…” 

Aziraphale kept his hand at Gabriel’s throat, and Gabriel was acutely aware of his keen, narrowed eyes watching him closely as he jabbed his finger in deeper, twisting it sharply. Gabriel bit back the cry of pain that rose up in his throat, stifling it until all that escaped his lips was a soft, plaintive whimper. 

“That’s better,” Aziraphale said, soft and approving. “Easy…  _ quiet _ …” 

Gabriel did his best to obey, despite the pain. He felt a moment’s intense relief when Aziraphale at last withdrew his finger from Gabriel’s body - only for that relief to be smothered by  _ terror _ as Aziraphale’s hand covered his mouth again. He’d been quiet and still and obedient, hadn’t fought or struggled or made any sound that could even come close to escaping the walls of this room. 

But for what he was going to do next, Aziraphale did not trust that Gabriel would be able to maintain his silence. 

He was right. 

Aziraphale’s cock driving into Gabriel was  _ so much worse _ , tearing into him with merciless impatience and dragging a scream from his lips - well muffled by Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale gently shushed him, holding him firmly against his body as he brutally violated him, his pace and force unaltered by Gabriel’s hoarse, agonized cries, stifled by his hand. 

Finally, Aziraphale was finished, and he let go of Gabriel completely, allowing him to fall forward across his bound hands, his forehead pressed to the floor, drawing in soft, aching sobs for breath. 

Everything hurt. 

His entire back, the burns and cuts from the whipping he’d taken severely aggravated by the rhythm of Aziraphale’s fucking him. His torn, abused ass, bruised and throbbing as the wet, hot slide of Aziraphale’s spend, mingled with his own blood, ran down his legs to stain the wooden floor. His own pulse pounded in his ears, his stomach rolling as he drew in deep, cool breaths, struggling to recover from the brutal assault. 

Aziraphale sat down on the floor beside Gabriel, his own breath coming deep and heavy. He pulled off the single filthy glove he still wore before reaching out a hand to stroke through Gabriel’s damp, matted hair. Instinctively, Gabriel flinched away, but Aziraphale did not allow his retreat. He roughly caught a handful of Gabriel’s hair and jerked his head back into place, pressing it down hard against the floor. 

Gabriel went still, unmoving even when Aziraphale eased his grip, submitting to the soft touch as Aziraphale resumed slowly, idly stroking his hair. 

“I don’t care if you feel that you don’t deserve it,” he said quietly at last. “Or if you feel that the punishment is greater than your sin. You are not qualified to judge your own sins. I’m the one you’ve sinned against. So I’ll decide what you deserve. When it’s enough.” Abruptly he jerked Gabriel’s head up, the searing pull making the archangel gasp with pain and alarm, as Aziraphale snapped, “ _ Look at me _ .” 

Gabriel obeyed immediately, eyes wide, breath rapid with panic, as he took in the fierce, menacing light in Aziraphale’s icy blue eyes. His pale clothing was stained with streaks of deep crimson, and his hair was messy and disheveled, but he was calm, almost serene. 

_ Smiling _ . 

“I’m sure you’ve prayed for deliverance. Haven’t you?” 

Gabriel hesitated, then nodded, lowering his gaze in shame. Aziraphale placed a firm hand at his chin, sharply tilting his head up again, insisting on eye contact. Once he had it again, he went on, soft and certain, with a speculative smile. 

“And there has been none. If She should choose to intervene, well… then I suppose I’d have to accept that, wouldn’t I? But until then…” His smile faded, his expression becoming hard and demanding. “I will do what I will with you. Whatever that is. And  _ you _ will make  _ no _ demands of me, no argument over whether or not it’s  _ fair _ . I’ve had quite enough of your judgments and condescension and lectures by this point, Gabriel. And I’ll have no more of them.  _ You have no say _ . Yours is only to submit and obey. And  _ you will _ . Won’t you?” 

Gabriel nodded, his heart pounding, desperate, panicked. 

“You will not attempt to evade me again,” Aziraphale persisted. “Will you?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No,” he whispered. 

“No,” Aziraphale repeated with a faint note of contempt. “I can summon you here anytime I like.” He was quiet for a moment, leaning in close to Gabriel’s face, his hand firmly cupping his jaw and holding him in place. “Do you  _ want _ to find out what happens if I have to summon you again?” 

“No,” Gabriel sobbed out, despairing. “You won’t have to, I w-won’t, please…”

“Quiet,” Aziraphale snapped. Gabriel flinched, biting his lip, and Azirpahale rolled his eyes with a sigh of irritation. “It’s as if you just can’t bear for the sound of your own voice to  _ stop _ .” He leveled a cold smile on Gabriel, his voice deceptively soft. “I can  _ make _ it stop. If you’ve so little self-control that you can’t.” 

Gabriel tried to shake his head within Aziraphale’s grasp, choking back sobs, wrestling the natural impulse to allow the pleading words poised just behind his lips to spill over in a desperate rush. 

“But, see? There you are, you can, can’t you?” Aziraphale’s voice warmed with approval, his hand on Gabriel’s face going soft and soothing. “Clearly you can, when you’ve a mind to. And you’re going to mind that sinful tongue of yours, aren’t you? Mind your words?” His calculating gaze searched Gabriel’s face, sharp and cold, his words deceptively soft. “Not say anything that might upset Crowley?”

Gabriel shook his head, the taste of his own blood trickling into his mouth as he bit down hard on his lip, desperately silent. 

“Good.” Aziraphale nodded slowly, sliding his hand across Gabriel’s cheek, gently catching the tears he found there, brushing them away with this thumb. “Very good.” 

His expression softened a little as he snapped his fingers. Gabriel flinched, his stomach lurching with alarm - but a clean, wet cloth appeared in Aziraphale’s hand. A firm hand at the back of his head kept him from pulling away - not that he would have dared at this point - as Aziraphale carefully touched the cloth to his face. It was warm and soft, gently cleaning away the blood and tears and sweat. It stung against the hellfire lashes beneath his eyes, across his lips, and Gabriel stifled a whimper, closing his eyes and allowing Aziraphale to manipulate his face, first to one side and then the other as he inspected the damage. 

“Well,” he remarked mildly after a moment. “ _ That’s _ going to be an interesting topic around the holy water cooler, isn’t it? Wonder what you’re going to tell them.” 

His tone was calm, almost disinterested - but Gabriel’s heart hammered in his chest. 

It felt like a trap. 

“What were you up to, when I summoned you, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, sounding merely bemused and curious - but Gabriel knew by now how deceptive Aziraphale’s apparent softness could be. “Were you alone?” 

“Yes,” Gabriel whispered, braced, barely daring to speak at all - then venturing to cautiously continue when no further punishment met the first word. “Working in my office. Alone. I - I won’t tell anyone about this, I swear…” 

Aziraphale laughed softly, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Tell them what you like, Gabriel,” he said lightly with a little shrug. “It’s no difference to me.” 

He snapped his fingers again, and the dirty cloth vanished into nothingness - along with Aziraphale’s smile, and any trace of warmth or sympathy in his eyes as he grabbed Gabriel’s hair and yanked him in, close enough to feel the heat of Aziraphale’s breath on his face as he spoke with quiet menace. 

“But you will tell  _ Crowley… nothing _ .” 

Gabriel closed his eyes, trembling in Aziraphale’s grasp, shaking his head as best he could. “N-no,” he whispered, pleading. “No, no, I won’t…” 

Aziraphale released him roughly, then waved a hand in an imperiously dismissive gesture, and Gabriel gasped as he felt the agonizing, bleeding abrasions in his most intimate places instantly healed - the pain vanished, as well as all physical evidence of the assault that had caused it. He glanced down at the floor around his spread knees to see that the disgusting mess that had leaked out of his body to stain the dark wood had vanished as well. 

He looked up to see a smirk of amusement on Aziraphale’s lips, and his face heated with self-conscious shame as he lowered his gaze back to the floor in front of him. A third snap of Aziraphale’s fingers released the cuffs from the floor and from each other, but not from Gabriel’s wrists. Aziraphale’s hand touched Gabriel again, gently this time, fingers trailing slowly through the soft, fine hair at the back of his neck. 

“Stay right here,” he ordered softly. “Don’t move.” 

Gabriel gave an unsteady nod, and Aziraphale finally withdrew his hand as he rose to his feet and left the room, leaving Gabriel to the silent torment of the many injuries still seared into his flesh, and the vivid feeling of the ones he’d just healed away - still seared into his memory. 

Aziraphale returned with Crowley. 

He’d already erased the evidence of their transgression against the demon’s will, but Gabriel still fought back a sense of panic. His head was hazy with pain and shock, terror still screaming across the surface of every nerve, as his mind refused to process the reality of what had just happened to him. 

He had no idea what game Aziraphale had in mind, but he was sure he didn’t have it in him to think as quickly as the last time had required. 

_ Just be quiet and still… stay down and don’t say anything at all… it’s what he usually wants, anyway… _

“Stand up.” 

Gabriel’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure he could. 

He looked up at Aziraphale, his pleading gaze met with only cold impatience, and the slight flex of his fist at his side. Gabriel lowered his head with a weary nod of resignation, bracing one hand against the nearest wall and forcing himself to his feet. 

He managed it. Just barely, swaying slightly, fingers splayed against the wall as he fought to keep his balance. 

“I do believe he’s learned his lesson,” Aziraphale remarked calmly. “He won’t be avoiding his penance again. He’ll be here next week. Won’t you, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel kept his head bowed, his eyes down. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. 

“Yeah, fairly certain he will be, angel,” Crowley remarked, with a surprising note of dismay in his voice. “Not sure he’ll be able to leave this room at all, in this state. Look at him, he can barely stand.” 

“Oh, he’ll be fine.” Aziraphale’s breezy, dismissive tone shifted into something harder. “Won’t you, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel nodded, repeating, breathless with the effort, “Y-yes, sir.” 

The floor beneath his unsteady feet swam in front of his eyes, and his trembling fingers clutched at the wall as he drew in deep, pained gasps. 

“Angel, come on,” Crowley persisted. “How’s he even gonna make it back to Heaven like this? Just a quick miracle...” 

“Certainly not,” Aziraphale said in a tone of exaggerated offense, moving in to stand directly in front of Gabriel, a smile of cruel amusement on his lips. “Gabriel’s of the opinion that I perform far too many frivolous miracles, aren’t you?” 

Gabriel froze, feeling trapped and very, very scared. “N-no,” he stammered, “no, I - I don’t - it’s not my -  _ please _ …” 

Aziraphale tapped his index finger lightly against Gabriel’s lips, silencing him, just as Crowley began to speak. 

“Well, no one’s tracking  _ my _ miracles.” 

Gabriel remembered a time, not so long ago, when he would have recoiled in disgust at the idea of a demon performing any sort of miracle on him. Now, the prospect of such a mercy - relief from the consuming agony that suffused his entire body - brought grateful tears to his eyes. He closed them, lowering his head a little, but remaining still under the soft touch of Aziraphale’s hand, lingering against his lips.

_ Please… please…  _

He dared not speak the words aloud; he knew doing so would certainly sway Aziraphale against it. 

“No one’s tracking mine, anymore, either,” Aziraphale pointed out, his gaze still focused, dark and accusing, on Gabriel. He was quiet a moment, before concluding, soft and cold. “I just don’t feel he’s  _ worth _ one.” 

“Well,  _ that _ can’t be true, when it costs  _ nothing _ , can it?” 

Crowley’s voice was low, touched with a trace of sardonic amusement, but Gabriel got the startling impression that it was for Aziraphale’s benefit - for the purpose of convincing him. He could hear the heavy, taut note beneath the words - Crowley was deeply unhappy with the situation, but not for the reasons Aziraphale had warned against. 

Crowley had no way of knowing what Aziraphale had healed away, and he didn’t seem angry at Gabriel - not this time. 

He seemed -  _ sympathetic _ . 

Aziraphale sighed, then laughed, a laugh too touched with genuine affection to be aimed at Gabriel. He tilted Gabriel’s head up a bit, and Gabriel reluctantly opened his eyes. Aziraphale was smiling into them, warm and amused. 

“My Crowley is a bit soft-hearted, isn’t he? Kind… generous,” he observed. His smile faded a little as he withdrew his hand from Gabriel’s lips, fingers poised casually near his face, as if in preparation for a snap. “Seems  _ nothing’s _ quite as you believed it to be, is it?” 

Gabriel shook his head a little, lowering his gaze, his heart racing. “No, sir.” 

Aziraphale remained there for a tense moment, before finally lowering his hand and backing off a couple steps. “Well, go ahead, darling, if you like,” he sighed with an indulgent wave of his hand toward Gabriel. “He deserves a more lasting reminder if you ask me, but do as you wish.” 

Crowley stepped forward, and Gabriel ventured a glance up at him. His expression was solemn, calm, his head tilted slightly as he surveyed the damage. Then he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. 

Immediately Gabriel felt every lash from the whip, every bruise, every burn, fade away into nothingness. His clothing was returned as well, pristine and crisp as when he’d put them on. The weariness of the cuffs lingered, but Gabriel no longer felt moments from utter collapse. Where searing, all-consuming  _ pain _ had overwhelmed him, he now felt blessed, blissful  _ nothing _ . 

Gabriel stared up at Crowley, startled, disbelieving. 

Aziraphale would have left him to return to Heaven, suffering, his shame on full display. Aziraphale didn’t care what the other angels thought, of him  _ or _ of Gabriel, and no pleading words would have swayed him. This merciful relief was… the desire of a  _ demon _ . 

And not one who particularly  _ liked _ him, either. 

“It’s more mercy than you deserve.” 

Aziraphale spoke with severe disapproval, as if somehow reading Gabriel’s thoughts. 

Gabriel flinched, lowering his head and nodding in acceptance. 

Aziraphale grabbed his arm and shoved him roughly in Crowley’s general direction, his words low and commanding. 

“Thank him. Properly.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched. 

The last time he’d attempted it, Crowley had rejected the gesture in no uncertain terms. He did not want to displease Crowley, especially just now when he’d been so merciful. Crowley believed that his stipulations had been met, that Gabriel was no longer sexually involved with his partner - and apparently, that had abated his wrath, had allowed room for the sympathetic compassion he’d just displayed. The last thing Gabriel wanted to do was to give Crowley another reason to be angry with him. 

He took a couple of halting steps toward Crowley, then dropped to his knees. He brushed trembling hands down the front of his own clean pant legs, glancing up at Crowley in a helpless question. 

Crowley was glaring at Aziraphale, shaking his head slightly. 

Gabriel looked to Aziraphale - who was staring down at  _ him _ , a single brow lifted, warning and expectant. 

No. He’d been wrong. 

The last thing Gabriel wanted was to give  _ Aziraphale _ another reason to be angry with him. 

Gabriel looked back up at Crowley, who was now frowning down at him with clear disapproval. 

Gabriel had  _ no fucking idea _ what to do. 

_ What Aziraphale says. That’s all, every time. Just do what he says… _

He drew in a shaky breath, steadying himself on his knees, poised to lower his head toward Crowley’s shoes. 

Just then, Crowley took a firm, deliberate step forward. In the same motion he reached out a hand to grip Gabriel’s hair and stop him before he could bow himself low at the demon’s feet. 

Gabriel froze, staring up into Crowley’s eyes. 

His face was solemn, an expression in his fierce, golden gaze to match the touch of his fingers in Gabriel’s hair - no trace of cruelty, no desire to hurt the archangel. He did not employ the sort of vindictive, deliberately painful twist of his hand that Aziraphale seemed so fond of using, but rather a firm, unyielding grasp that would only  _ hurt _ if Gabriel tried to break it. 

It served as a clear warning. 

_ Don’t fight. Don’t resist. Don’t do anything to thwart my purpose.  _

Because… there _was_ a purpose in Crowley’s eyes, too. Something sharp and intent, some _secret_ behind this gesture, an inexplicable promise that his intentions were far more inclined toward mercy than those of his angel.

Crowley extended his other arm, holding his hand down in front of Gabriel’s face. Crowley held Gabriel’s gaze, giving him a slow, affirmative nod, before using his grip on Gabriel’s hair to firmly push his forehead down against the back of his hand. He held it there for a moment before releasing Gabriel’s hair with a single, soothing brush through it. 

Immediate understanding clicked in Gabriel’s mind, and he reached up to catch Crowley’s hand in both of his, pressing his head firmly against it. 

“Thank you,” he gasped out with relief. “Thank you.” 

After a moment, Crowley gently withdrew his hand, stepping back. “That’s it,” Crowley said with soft approval. “That will do.” 

Gabriel remained on his knees, his head lowered in submission, but he could hear the edge in Crowley’s voice, could tell that he’d shifted to focus on Aziraphale as he repeated his words firmly. 

“ _ That will do _ .” 

Gabriel ventured a glance up at Aziraphale, who was looking at Crowley with fond exasperation. 

“Oh, fine, yes,” he sighed at last, shaking his head a little and giving Gabriel a look that made it perfectly clear, he wouldn’t have been nearly so lenient on him. “I suppose it’s sufficient.” 

Aziraphale abruptly moved toward Gabriel, and Gabriel tensed, but didn’t dare try to retreat or move away from him. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the cuffs fell open and to the floor in front of Gabriel. He reeled, gasping for breath as his power came rushing back all at once. 

He remained kneeling where he was, and made no attempt to make any use of it. 

“Hold out your hand.” 

Gabriel’s stomach clenched, but he obeyed immediately, holding his hand palm up toward Aziraphale, braced for more pain. 

Aziraphale smiled, not touching his hand, but gently cupping Gabriel’s cheek instead. “Very good,” he said softly, almost affectionately. After a moment he added, “I’ve got a gift for you.” 

Gabriel glanced up at Crowley warily. His experience with gifts in this room had not been at all positive thus far. 

“Eyes down.” 

The sharp words drove Gabriel’s gaze back to the floor at Aziraphale’s feet, and Aziraphale’s hand fell at the back of his neck, firmly pushing his head down lower, then gently stroking through his hair for a moment when Gabriel swiftly complied. His voice was teasingly secretive. 

“ _ It’s a surprise _ .”

Gabriel shivered, but remained still in the position Aziraphale had commanded. 

Aziraphale took something from his coat pocket, and Gabriel resisted the urge to lift his head, his breath quickening with rising panic. Gabriel’s apprehension was heightened when Aziraphale touched his wrist, carefully fastening something around it. Then Aziraphale took a step back, waving his hand toward Gabriel. 

“Go on, then,” he said in a tone of eager anticipation. “Take a look.” 

Gabriel turned eyes filled with dread on the object now locked around his wrist - and blinked, startled to see how very  _ beautiful _ it was. A gold and silver wrist watch of intricate design, set with tiny, sparkling stones - very much in keeping with his usual style. 

Very much the sort of thing that Aziraphale deemed to be useless vanity. 

He looked up at Aziraphale, wary and confused. 

Was this a test? 

Was he meant to  _ refuse  _ this gift? 

“It seems you could use something to help you keep better track of the time,” Aziraphale explained with a disarming smile. “It’s pretty, yes, but… it’s also quite useful.” 

Gabriel stared down at the watch, troubled by the unexpected concession - what seemed to be a  _ reward _ of sorts, in the wake of his rebellion. 

There  _ had _ to be a catch. 

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “When should he return, darling? As our weekly schedule’s been thrown into chaos at this point.” 

Crowley was quiet for a moment, and Gabriel could feel his piercing serpent’s gaze focused on him. 

Crowley sighed, looking up at Aziraphale. “Book club’s tomorrow, so anytime after.” 

Aziraphale nodded briskly, looking back to Gabriel. “Very good. We’ll say… Tuesday, then.” 

Gabriel wondered briefly what sort of a demon attended a weekly book club. 

The same sort, apparently, that used his miracles for acts of healing and mercy… or that fell in love with an angel. Very little that Gabriel had seen from Crowley so far appeared to be blatantly evil, or even cruel.

_ Aziraphale _ seemed far more demonic than Crowley, at this point. 

Gabriel didn’t have time to focus on his troubled thoughts before Aziraphale caught his hand, holding his wrist in place as he pressed a matching ring on his finger to the face of the watch. Gabriel’s attention was drawn to the ring for just a moment, before the watch face lit up, and he stared down at it with alarm. 

It did not show a specific time and date, as he’d expected, but instead a countdown clock. 

_ 03:20:13.  _

The days, hours, and minutes until he was expected to return to the bookshop. 

Gabriel thought he was going to throw up. 

“There we are, just right.” Aziraphale checked the timer with a smile, patting the back of Gabriel’s hand and giving him a bright smile. “Quite an ingenious device, isn’t it? My Crowley’s design. He’s quite a bit more mechanically inclined than I. Comes up with just the most  _ brilliant _ things.” He was quiet a moment. “Doesn’t he?” 

“Yes,” Gabriel agreed immediately, his words hushed and flat with exhaustion and defeat. “It’s… beautiful work,” he choked out, with an uncertain glance up toward Crowley. 

Crowley was leaning against the desk, his arms crossed, troubled gaze averted. 

He didn’t seem nearly so thrilled with his own invention as was Aziraphale. 

“Yes, just stunning.” Aziraphale glanced between them with a knowing little smile that settled warmly on Crowley, even as he waved a hand at Gabriel, gesturing for him to stand. “You may go.” 

Gabriel nodded, rising to his feet and backing toward the door a step. Before he could turn to leave, Aziraphale caught his wrist abruptly and pulled him back. Gabriel cringed, but didn’t resist, looking up at Aziraphale with fearful expectation. 

Aziraphale met his eyes with a warm smile, and a tone of gentle warning. 

“ _ Don’t be late _ .” 

His physical injuries had all been healed. The infernal cuffs were gone, his power fully at his disposal once again - and yet, Gabriel felt as if his legs would hardly bear him up as he left the bookshop. He’d expected to feel relief as the door closed behind him and he stepped out onto the sidewalk. 

He didn’t. 

He felt sick, trapped, overwhelmed with dread. In…  _ three days, twenty hours, and eleven minutes _ … he would return. Because if he didn’t, Aziraphale would just summon him. 

And what would happen then didn’t bear thinking about. 

_ Don’t think about it, no, it’s over, it’s gone, shut it out… _

He just wanted to get back to Heaven. Everything would feel normal again when he got back to Heaven. 

Several angels spoke to him when he stepped off the elevator. He gave them bright, false smiles and didn’t slow his pace as he made his way to his office. He closed the door behind him with a shaky sigh, drew the shades, and sank down into the chair behind his desk, his head in his hands. He drew in a few deep, shuddering breaths, struggling to calm himself. 

_ You’re not even hurt anymore, it’s like it never happened, what’s wrong with you?  _

_ Get it together, you’re a fucking archangel, you should be fine, this should be fine… _

Nothing was fine. 

He could still feel the phantom ache of Aziraphale’s cock driving into him, fingers sinking into his hips, a punishing yank on his hair, a hand gripping his throat, if he dared make more than the softest sound… 

He miracled up a trash can for which he’d never before had any need, under the edge of his desk, and dry heaved over it for a few minutes. There was nothing to expel from his body save the vivid, nightmare memories. 

And  _ they _ weren’t going anywhere. 

_ Your body is whole. Clean. Like it never happened.  _

_ There’s… none of him left, on you... _

It was true… but it wasn’t. 

He could still feel the instant when his internal injuries had been healed, every trace of the filth of his violation vanishing in a moment’s time - just  _ another _ violation, a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers to touch him  _ again  _ where he’d never wanted to be touched - to make it perfectly clear  _ again _ that he would do whatever he  _ fucking wanted _ with Gabriel’s body, and no one and nothing could stop him. 

Gabriel’s body was clean - but he felt absolutely disgusting. 

He snapped his fingers, performing a cleaning miracle of his own, hoping he could somehow  _ cover _ Aziraphale’s miracle, somehow make himself  _ feel _ clean at last. 

It didn’t change anything. 

He tried again, and again, shutting his eyes tight against the hot tears of frustration that welled in his eyes, trying to calm his rapid, panicked breaths. He buried his face in his arms across the desk and drew in several deep gasps and tried not to sob. 

_ He was clean _ . Logically, he  _ knew _ he was. 

He lifted his head and closed his eyes, running his hands idly over the sleeves of the suit jacket Crowley had miracled up for him - visibly identical to the one he’d been wearing when he’d entered the bookshop. 

It still just… felt vaguely  _ wrong _ . 

Not in the same way that  _ his entire being _ felt wrong at the moment. No, Gabriel was actually grateful for the clothing that covered him - more of a mercy than Aziraphale had chosen to afford him. But clothes miracled into existence just never quite felt…  _ right _ . There was something about real, human-tailored clothing purchased in an actual shop and pressed into place over his corporation with his own two hands that was just infinitely more satisfying than an instantaneous miracle. 

He blinked, realization dawning with startling clarity. 

Maybe this was the same. 

Maybe he needed to actually go through with the physical ritual of cleaning his body.  _ Then _ he’d feel better. 

Gabriel snapped his fingers to ensure that his office door was locked - then again to bring into creation a large, luxurious shower. It was out of place in his office, he knew, but no trace of it would remain when he was finished - and hopefully, no trace of the sick, shameful feeling that currently clung to his skin like a film of filth. 

His hands shook as he undressed hurriedly and then stepped under the steaming spray. 

It felt good - hot and strong and soothing against taut, aching muscles. He let out a heavy sigh and tilted his head back, letting the water flow through his hair and down over his body. He opened his eyes after a moment. 

They were immediately caught by the glint of light shining off the watch on his wrist. 

Gabriel felt sick; he’d almost forgotten the thing. 

He slid his hand along the inside of his wrist, feeling for the catch - not finding it. He frowned, turning it up to examine it, his pulse picking up a bit when he could see no buckle or latch or anything to indicate how exactly Aziraphale had fastened it. 

He stepped forward out of the spray, blinking water away from his eyes as it dripped down from his hair, over his face, making his examination of the watch much more difficult. Rushed, panicked, he stumbled out of the shower, away from the water completely, naked and soaking wet, to study the watch more closely. 

He pulled at it, trying to pry it past his wrist, but it fit comfortably snug and, like the cuffs, he could see no mechanism with which to open it. He shivered in the fresh chill of the air against his skin, panic swelling up in his chest and stealing his breath. 

He couldn’t take it off. 

He jerked at it in frustration a couple more times, then slammed it against the tile wall of the shower, hard enough to make his hand throb. But the impact didn’t crack or dent or even  _ scratch _ the watch - didn’t alter it in any way. It remained locked tight around Gabriel’s wrist, a beautiful reminder of his utter defeat. 

Pristine, perfect, and steadily counting down the minutes until Gabriel would next be violated at Aziraphale’s hands. 

Gabriel sank to his knees next to the misplaced shower in the middle of his office, slowly filling the room with sweet-scented steam. He buried his face in his arms - utterly trapped, helpless, and despairing - and wept. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all - please check out the gorgeous artwork at the beginning of this chapter, made by two wonderfully talented artists!! I'm so honored that they made pieces for this story <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Neither piece is exactly SFW though, so be warned ;) 
> 
> All previous warnings for this story apply. Let's just assume they apply from here on out. 
> 
> Poor Gabriel. :(

_ _

_ "Penance"  _ by THISisGREAT, the lovely and talented artist who is creating the Repossession graphic novel!! <3 <3 <3 

The detail on this, of his wings, and the marks around his wrists, and the expression on his face, just exquisite!!!! Please let them know what you think!!! 

_ _

_ "Untitled"  _ by Ineffable_Alien

I really love this piece, and the way it brings to mind Gabriel's power, so useless to him as long as he THINKS it is. :( Escape is RIGHT THERE - and yet he doesn't realize it, and is therefore powerless. :( Absolutely beautiful work by a lovely person and artist <3 <3 <3 

All right, please let the artists know what you think of these pieces in the comments, as well as the fic!! :) 

And now... onto Chapter 10!!!! 

_ “Don’t be late.”  _

Aziraphale’s words echoed in Gabriel’s mind throughout the week that followed. As he worked in his office in Heaven, reading over pointless memos and attending meetings that he remembered nothing of the moment he left the room, Gabriel found his gaze repeatedly drawn to the delicate, indestructible device of gold and silver that encircled his wrist… steadily counting down the minutes until he had to return. 

He didn’t want to give a single one of them away - to spend even a minute longer than he had to at the bookshop; but, he was pretty sure... letting the countdown clock reach 00:00:00 was probably a very  _ bad _ idea. 

_ “Don’t be late,” _ Aziraphale had said. 

Gabriel did not want to find out what Aziraphale would do if he was. 

He made his way down to Earth while the watch still read 00:02:15. He didn’t want to take the chance of getting caught up in some Heavenly responsibility that might prevent his arriving on time. But once there, he found himself unsure how to pass the time. His visits to the bookshop had begun in correlation with his weekly shopping trips, so almost automatically, he headed toward his favorite shop.

There was no point to shopping anymore. 

He wouldn’t be allowed to actually  _ wear  _ anything that he bought. Even  _ looking _ , now, filled him with a creeping, unsettled feeling that made him startle at any unexpected movement too near him, made him glance furtively over his shoulder the moment he even  _ thought _ about touching any of the luxuries he’d so easily indulged in before. 

_ Evidence that he’s right…  _

A whispered accusation in his mind… a heavy, guilty feeling that made his face flush with shame at his own weakness, his own vanity, for being here, for even  _ wanting _ to be here when he knew how pointless it was, how useless the disguise he was no longer permitted to hide behind. 

_ You wouldn’t miss it so much if he wasn’t right.  _

Gabriel lasted five minutes in the shop before hurriedly making his way back out onto the sidewalk. 

No. Shopping was out. 

But he  _ had _ to do  _ something _ . 

His nerves were on edge, his hands damp and trembling - and he still had nearly two hours to kill before he was supposed to be at the bookshop. 

He changed clothes and went for a run - something he hadn’t done in quite a while. The familiar motion, the rhythmic pace of it was soothing. He didn’t have to feel guilty for taking good care of his physical corporation; that was a  _ good _ thing, something he was  _ supposed _ to do... and much less entangled with the confusing, unsettling  _ feelings  _ that his visit to the clothing store had stirred up. 

Still, the physical activity was nowhere near as reassuring, as fulfilling as he’d once found it. It didn’t make him feel strong and fit as it used to. Instead, it now felt frustratingly empty - like a frail parody of the purpose it had once held for him. 

Running had always made Gabriel feel strong and fit. It had given him a sense of accomplishment, a feeling that he was developing self-discipline, bringing his fleshly corporation under control. Now, that all felt so  _ hollow _ \- now that he knew better. Whatever physical preparation he might attempt to engage in - whatever strength he might try to build - was useless. 

_ Nothing _ was within his control - not anymore. 

Still, Gabriel ran, although he knew there was nowhere to run to - no escape. 

It didn’t matter how strong he was, how well prepared. When the timer on his wrist reached 00:00:00, Gabriel would be in the bookshop, naked on his knees at Aziraphale’s feet. 

Ten minutes before he was supposed to be there, the screen on the watch lit up, highlighting the countdown, and the bright, pristine metal began to feel warm against his skin. Not warm enough to burn, just warm enough to get his attention. A warning. 

Not that Gabriel needed one. 

The events of the previous week had been more than warning enough. Aziraphale had dropped all pretense of doing any of this for Gabriel’s “own good”. He’d made it perfectly clear that he would do what he wanted, when he wanted, with Gabriel - and mostly,  _ what he wanted _ seemed to be to watch Gabriel’s suffering and humiliation. Being on time would likely not be enough to protect him. 

Still, the last thing he wanted was to start with Aziraphale already pissed off. 

He arrived at the bookshop with two minutes left on the clock, entered, and quietly closed the door behind him. Crowley was standing near the front window, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He let out a heavy breath when Gabriel entered, raking a hand through his hair in apparent relief. 

Gabriel suppressed an incredulous look, casting his gaze down to the floor instead. 

Had the demon actually  _ doubted _ that he’d show up, after the previous week? 

Of course, Crowley didn’t know all that had happened. 

But… he knew  _ enough _ . 

Aziraphale was leaning against a stool behind the counter, idly thumbing through an open book. He looked up at Gabriel with a bright smile, then stood up straight, moved around the counter, and walked toward him. 

Gabriel lowered his eyes and fought the impulse to simply miracle himself out of there before Aziraphale could reach him, could  _ touch _ him. It wouldn’t do any good. 

Aziraphale could easily bring him right back. 

He kept carefully still when Aziraphale reached out to take his hand in a grasp that was firm but not hurtful, watching as Aziraphale pressed the stone in his ring against the face of the watch Gabriel wore, and the screen went dark - the ominous countdown vanishing into non-existence, the warmth of the metal against Gabriel’s wrist slowly fading away. 

“There, now, isn’t that better?” Aziraphale reached up a hand to touch Gabriel’s cheek, and Gabriel suppressed a flinch, instead looking up obediently to meet Aziraphale’s surprisingly warm, approving smile. “Already so much better than last week. You’ve given me no reason to punish you.” 

Gabriel froze, staring into Aziraphale’s bright, cheerful eyes. 

_ He doesn’t need a reason. He’ll do as he likes.  _

_ And he likes  _ hurting you. 

“No punishment,” he echoed in wary disbelief. 

“Just ordinary penance today.” Aziraphale nodded. 

Gabriel cast an uncertain glance toward Crowley, who was just quietly observing, calm and watchful - and he understood. For whatever reason, be it some impossibly ill-begotten sense of kindness, or morality, or perhaps just jealousy over his angel - Crowley had his limits, when it came to what he was willing to accept from Aziraphale’s interactions with Gabriel. Considering the “gifts” that he’d contributed to said interactions, but then also his merciful healing the previous week - well, Gabriel had  _ no fucking idea _ what those limits actually  _ were _ . 

But…  _ Aziraphale _ knew. 

This apparent kindness, this unsettlingly warm welcome, was a pretense for Crowley’s benefit, and would certainly vanish the moment the door of the backroom closed behind them. Gabriel’s heart clenched with panic as Aziraphale firmly took his arm and gave him a somewhat gentle push in that general direction - a silent command to go on ahead of him. 

All Gabriel could do was obey. 

His eyes were immediately drawn to a single change in the room’s decor. Near the center, a metal bar hung from the ceiling, suspended by chains, about a foot higher than Gabriel’s head. 

Gabriel didn’t want to think about what it might be for. 

He took off his clothes and carefully folded them, trembling as his gaze fell on the cuffs, the whip, and the cane waiting on the surface of the desk. He turned and faced the door, kneeling quickly. He bit his lip, considering for a moment. He wasn’t sure if it would help at all, wasn’t sure  _ anything _ could, but he wanted to send a clear message. 

He wasn’t going to fight. He wasn’t going to resist. He was going to submit to Aziraphale and not give him any reason to be angry with him. 

As the backroom door opened and closed behind Aziraphale, Gabriel bowed his head and lifted his hands, holding them out in front of himself, ready for what he knew would come next - the cuffs.

Aziraphale stopped just inside the door, very still for a long moment. Then he slowly approached. Gabriel swallowed hard, but maintained the submissive posture, just quietly waiting, braced for the worst. Aziraphale’s hand came to rest, warm and soft against his cheek, tilting his head up. Gabriel obediently met his gaze - to his utter disbelief, still warm and smiling. Aziraphale nodded, his words soft and approving. 

“Very good.” 

He moved past Gabriel to the desk, then returned with the cuffs. He reached out to touch the watch, and it fell open easily into his hand. Gabriel stared at it as Aziraphale slipped it into his pocket, thinking with a sinking sense of despair, of how he’d struggled uselessly to get it off.  _ Of course _ he couldn’t. The watch was under Aziraphale’s control. 

_ Everything  _ was under Aziraphale’s control. 

Aziraphale held out the cuffs to Gabriel, quietly expectant, and Gabriel immediately took them and put them on. He closed his eyes, rocking slightly at the overwhelming sense of weariness that always came over him as his powers were locked away; but… it was getting easier, now. Each time. 

He was getting used to the feeling. 

“Now. Confess your sins.” 

Gabriel looked up at Aziraphale in surprise. 

He hadn’t expected the pretense of “penance” to continue at all after the previous week. Aziraphale had made it quite clear at the time - this was far more personal than that. This wasn’t about Gabriel’s general sinfulness, so much as it was about Aziraphale’s rage and resentment over Gabriel’s perceived offenses against him over the past six millennia. 

This wasn’t “penance.” It was  _ payback _ . 

But the expression on the principality’s face was solemn and stern, expectantly awaiting his confession. 

_ He just needs an excuse,  _ Gabriel realized.  _ A reason to - to hurt me again.  _

A useless realization. It wasn’t as if Gabriel could  _ refuse _ to confess. His refusal would be taken for rebellion, and be all the excuse Aziraphale needed in itself. 

His eyes focused on the floor at Aziraphale’s feet, Gabriel offered his confession, quiet and subdued, his body trembling with cold and fearful anticipation. His words were low and halting, dreading their end, and the suffering that would surely follow. He closed his eyes as he finished with a hoarse, desperate, “I-I’m  _ sorry _ …” 

“Stand.” 

The unexpected order was calm and level, utterly ignoring Gabriel’s pleading words. Gabriel glanced up at Aziraphale uncertainly. He was watching him in quiet, patient expectation. Gabriel nodded a little, rising carefully to his feet and standing there, one arm across his middle, waiting. 

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment thoughtfully, one hand raised idly in front of him. Then a swift upward flick of his wrist drew the cuffs up and fastened them to the bar that hung from the ceiling, holding Gabriel’s hands firmly bound over his head. Instinctively Gabriel tried to lower them, tried to cover his body - now fully exposed, completely vulnerable to whatever Aziraphale might decide to do. 

The bar shifted and swung a little on the chains that held it, but the cuffs did not yield a bit. Gabriel swallowed hard, his heart racing, as he lowered his head in desperate submission. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Aziraphale,  _ please _ …”

Aziraphale’s hand locked firmly in Gabriel’s hair, dragging his head back, his free hand sliding along Gabriel’s side and resting against his bare stomach - still gentle, soft as his words. 

“You’re doing so well, dear. So much better than last week. Let’s not spoil that, shall we?” 

“No, no,” Gabriel conceded, trying to shake his head in Aziraphale’s grasp, his words coming out in a breathless, panicked gasp. “Okay… okay, I’m sorry, I won’t...”

Aziraphale gave his hair a sharp, warning tug, and his words broke off with a pained whimper, as Aziraphale continued, a stern note in his quiet voice. 

“You will speak to me with the proper respect...” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel gasped out. “Yes, sir, I will, of course I will...” 

Aziraphale yanked harder, twisting his hand and dragging Gabriel’s head back to speak very softly into his ear. “... and  _ only... _ when I  _ tell _ you to.” 

Gabriel went silent, forcing back the sob that rose in his throat, nodding as best he could against Aziraphale’s painful grip. At last, Aziraphale’s hand eased in Gabriel’s hair, stroking through it gently as he released him and walked away, toward the desk. Gabriel shivered, unable to watch as Aziraphale selected his implement and then moved to stand behind Gabriel again. 

His hand slid slowly, teasingly down the bare skin at Gabriel’s side, and Gabriel’s heart hammered in his chest, panic rising up within him, choking him. The deceptively gentle touch awakened the vivid memory of the week before, and Gabriel resisted the desperate impulse to  _ plead _ with Aziraphale not to do it again. When Aziraphale withdrew his hand at last, Gabriel collapsed against the chains that bound him, trembling with relief. 

So great was his terror at the prospect of being brutally raped again, he was completely unprepared for the first blow - a single lash, a burning sting across his back that would surely leave a livid red welt later. 

Aziraphale had chosen the cane. 

And with each blow in succession building on the last, the pain intensified. 

But - it was  _ nothing _ compared to the fiery agony of the whip. 

Gabriel counted the strokes in his head. With the whip, he’d lost the capacity to do so around the fourth blow. This was -  _ so _ much easier. Painful, but  _ bearable _ . Aziraphale stopped at a rather reasonable twenty strokes, waving his hand to release the cuffs from the overhead bar. He returned the cane to its place on the desk and turned to face Gabriel with a soft smile. 

Gabriel shivered.

This  _ couldn’t _ be  _ all _ Aziraphale wanted. 

He lowered his aching, weary body to the floor, kneeling facing Aziraphale, lips parted in dreadful expectation as he glanced toward the front of Aziraphale’s trousers. 

_ If I’m already on my knees… already ready… maybe he won’t… maybe he’ll _ just…

Gabriel’s desperately rationalizing thoughts stuttered to a stop as Aziraphale closed in on him, one gentle hand cupping his chin to tilt his head up, the other stroking soothingly through his hair. 

Aziraphale’s smile was warm and almost affectionate. “There, now,” he said softly. “That wasn’t so very bad, was it?” 

Gabriel swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment, trembling under Aziraphale’s touch. “No, sir,” he whispered. 

His eyes flew open when all at once, he felt the cuffs fall away from his wrists, his power returning in a rush. He looked up at Aziraphale, stunned as Aziraphale took the watch from his pocket and carefully fastened it around Gabriel’s wrist again, touching his ring to it and causing the screen to light up with the new countdown. 

_ 07:00:00.  _

Gabriel stared at the bright numbers for a long moment, lips parted, but not quite daring to voice his confusion. 

He didn’t have to. 

Aziraphale crouched down beside him, very close, his eyes lit with curiosity that made Gabriel’s blood run cold. “You have a question.”

Gabriel flinched, shaking his head. “No,” he whispered. 

In place of the anger he expected, Gabriel’s pleading protest was met with a soft, sympathetic smile. “You may speak freely this once,” Aziraphale declared. He was quiet a moment, his voice hushed and private as he coaxed softly, “Go ahead, tell me, dear. What are you thinking?” 

Gabriel hesitated, his heart racing. It could be a trap. He could be punished, despite Aziraphale’s offer of clemency. 

Or he could be punished for withholding. For lying. 

Gabriel swallowed hard. “I - It’s just… you said… you’d do what you want with me,” he began, halting and careful, wincing a little at the words. “You said I - don’t deserve mercy, and… if it were up to you…” 

“It _ is _ up to me.” 

Aziraphale’s sharp tone cut off Gabriel’s words, and he immediately fell silent, braced for retaliation. He flinched a little when Aziraphale touched his face once more, but Aziraphale didn’t strike him, just made him look at him again. His expression was stern. 

“You  _ didn’t _ deserve mercy. You defied my orders and attempted to evade your penance. You had to be  _ summoned _ here. I found your defiance…  _ infuriating _ .” Aziraphale’s voice trembled with residual rage, and Gabriel shivered, waiting for him to lash out. “There had to be  _ consequences _ .” 

Those “consequences” were still vivid in Gabriel’s mind, the heat of shameful degradation, a bright and sharp agony that lingered as a physical memory. 

Gabriel nodded quickly. “Yes, sir,” he replied, lowering his head, hesitating a moment before adding in a desperate whisper, “I - I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, before Gabriel felt the gentle slide of his fingers through his hair, soothing and soft. 

“And then this week… you came precisely when you were instructed to. You entered my home with humility. You have been respectful and obedient.” After a moment’s silence, Aziraphale continued, “Submission and defiance will not be met with the same reward. Your penance needn’t be a terrible ordeal  _ every single time _ , my dear.” 

_ Penance. _

Aziraphale was still using that word - though Gabriel was fairly certain at this point that the events of the previous week had had little to do with anything other than Aziraphale’s own desires. 

He kept still as Aziraphale trailed his hand down through his hair, down the back of his neck, to brush over the raised, stinging welts the cane had left across Gabriel’s back. He bit his lip in preparation to stifle a cry, braced for pain - but Aziraphale’s touch was light, careful, as he inspected the injuries. 

“Nothing too dire,” he confirmed with quiet satisfaction. “A few stripes. One or two places, the skin is  _ barely _ broken. You could heal it away the moment you leave here.” He returned his hand to Gabriel’s hair, fingers carding through it gently as he continued, thoughtful and measured. “What do you suppose it is that I want from you, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel had thought he’d known, after the previous week. He thought he’d figured it out. But by this point he was hopelessly confused - couldn’t begin to imagine - and the idea of getting the answer wrong was fucking _ terrifying _ . He didn’t  _ know _ what Aziraphale wanted. 

Only that, whatever it was -  _ he would get it _ . 

“I - I don’t know,” he admitted, quiet, apologetic. 

Aziraphale simply nodded once, as if he’d expected that answer. “I want for you to understand the depth of your offense, and to truly be sorry for it. To truly  _ change _ . I want your repentance.” His hand abruptly tightened in Gabriel’s hair, drawing his head back sharply. “Your _ obedience _ .” 

Gabriel drew in a breath, but offered no resistance, swiftly complying and moving easily with the tug of Aziraphale’s hand. “Yes, sir,” he gasped out in a shallow, shuddering breath. 

Aziraphale’s grip eased, and he nodded with an approving smile. His brow creased slightly as he glanced at Gabriel’s back again, surveying the injuries. “You could heal it,” he repeated, before meeting Gabriel’s eyes again, calm and commanding. “But you won’t. Will you?” 

Gabriel shook his head, his mouth going dry. “No, sir,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale nodded his approval. “You’ll bear them this week, as a reminder of the mercy you may receive when you’re submissive and obedient. Yes?” 

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Aziraphale smiled, his hand falling to rest, heavy but gentle, at the back of Gabriel’s neck. “Very good. You may go.” 

Gabriel got dressed and left, his mind reeling at the abrupt difference in Aziraphale’s demeanor, and desperately trying to make sense of it. He’d expected that once Aziraphale had allowed himself to cross the line - once he’d taken what he wanted the first time - he’d do it again. There’d be no limits to the violation he’d inflict on Gabriel, whenever and however he wanted. 

He really hadn’t expected to ever hear the word _ “penance” _ in this context again. 

No matter what Aziraphale said, no matter what sins he may or may not have committed, one thing Gabriel knew: the only offenses this was about were the ones Aziraphale felt he’d  _ personally _ suffered at Gabriel’s hands. He wasn’t sure whether the pretense of penance was intended solely to convince  _ him _ , or whether Aziraphale was actually deceiving  _ himself _ , attempting to justify his actions - but there was no redemption to be found here, no salvation in his suffering. 

Only Aziraphale’s satisfaction.

_ It wasn’t so bad this week, though.  _ Gabriel considered.  _ I did what he wanted… and he was pleased. I just need to… keep doing that. Keep pleasing him, give him what he wants. No more stupid escape attempts, no more pointless defiance. That just makes him angrier. Makes it worse.  _

_ Just… obey, and maybe, eventually, it’ll be…  _ enough _.  _

_ Once he sees that I’m sufficiently sorry… that I’m not fighting him anymore, then… it’ll be easier.  _

_ At least he won’t be so angry.  _

_ The less I resist him, the less satisfaction he’ll find in… punishing me.  _

_ Hell, he might just get  _ bored _ enough to let me go.  _

Gabriel left the marks on his back as they were. During the week that followed, he tried to think of what would most please Aziraphale - what sort of gesture he could offer to prove to him that he was ready to surrender. 

He found himself repeatedly, obsessively checking the watch on his wrist, touching it to light up the screen when he was alone, to see how much time had passed since the last time he’d checked it. Usually only minutes had passed - and yet the time felt as if it was racing by, carrying him far too swiftly toward his next encounter with Aziraphale. 

****************************************************************************

Aziraphale stood behind the counter in the front of the bookshop, perusing a book to pass the remaining minutes until Gabriel’s arrival. At the sound of the bell over the bookshop door, Aziraphale looked up - and froze at the sight of the archangel standing just inside. 

Ten minutes  _ before _ he actually had to be. 

Crowley was seated on the floor, his knees drawn up, his back against the end of the bookshelf nearest the door. At Gabriel’s entrance, he lowered his head into one hand, releasing a heavy sigh of relief. Aziraphale knew he’d been worried about whether or not Gabriel would show up at all. 

Aziraphale hadn’t worried a bit. He’d been quite sure that he’d gotten his point across. 

The archangel would come when he was bidden. 

Aziraphale just hadn’t expected for a  _ moment  _ that he’d actually be  _ early. _

Gabriel glanced uncertainly at Crowley with a brief puzzled frown, before his gaze settled on Aziraphale. He swallowed slowly, lowering his gaze and speaking in a low, respectful tone. 

“I’m ready to offer my confession and penance.” 

Crowley looked up then, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes with a single raised brow, an expression of pleased surprise on his face. Aziraphale was stunned to silence for a moment, before he gathered himself enough to respond, putting the approval into his tone that he knew Crowley would expect to hear there. 

“Yes, I see that. Very good, Gabriel, go ahead and prepare. I’ll be in shortly.” 

Crowley watched as Gabriel made his way to the backroom, waiting until the door had closed behind him to turn his focus back toward Aziraphale with a knowing, satisfied smile. “See what happens when you take a gentler approach?” 

“Yes, I do see, darling,” Aziraphale conceded, coming around the counter to meet Crowley as he rose to his feet and closed the distance between them. “You’re quite right. You were right about healing him, despite his defiance, and you’re right now. Judgment must be tempered with mercy.” 

Crowley was  _ not  _ right. 

Aziraphale knew  _ exactly _ what had ensured Gabriel’s return, as well as his compliance - and it  _ wasn’t  _ Crowley’s acts of mercy. It was  _ Aziraphale’s _ making it perfectly clear the level of consequences that would meet Gabriel’s defiance - making sure that Gabriel wouldn’t  _ dare  _ refuse to come to the bookshop again. 

Crowley’s gentle hand after, healing Gabriel’s injuries and altering the apology Aziraphale had required of him -  _ sparing _ him the rightfully humiliating reinforcement of his position that Aziraphale had  _ intended _ him to experience - well, Aziraphale supposed it was fortunate that those soft-hearted actions apparently hadn’t managed to undermine his authority in Gabriel’s eyes. 

Especially because… he was going to have to continue to allow such softness. He was going to have to continue to employ a gentler approach, whenever he could. Because after Aziraphale had allowed Crowley to heal Gabriel, and they’d sent him away… 

Crowley had  _ touched _ him again. 

Nothing dramatic or even meaningful, really. He still hadn’t kissed him, or touched him with any real intimacy. Just… a brush of his hand against Aziraphale’s back as he’d walk by, or a squeeze of his shoulder as he sat down on the couch opposite him. Not quite within cozy cuddling distance, but even sharing the same space with Aziraphale was more than he’d deigned to do for weeks. 

And after the last week, when Aziraphale had limited himself to the use of the cane, and Gabriel had left apparently unharmed, and visibly stunned and bewildered by that fact…

Crowley had  _ hugged _ him, holding him tight and whispering into his ear, a bit choked with emotion, “Thanks, angel.” 

Aziraphale was wary of letting up on Gabriel, now that he very nearly had him where he wanted him. He didn’t want to be too lenient, and allow Gabriel the chance to begin to disrespect him again. He didn’t want to lose the hold he’d gained over the archangel. 

But even more… he didn’t want to lose  _ Crowley _ . 

It was frustrating, how completely Crowley just didn’t seem to  _ get it -  _ to understand why this  _ mattered _ so much to Aziraphale. He would no longer be called “soft”, no longer repress himself into being submissive and conciliatory toward pompous, prideful archangels with more arrogance than intelligence. He wanted to be sure that Gabriel, and all the rest of Heaven as well,  _ knew _ beyond all question - Aziraphale was  _ through _ being weak and walked on. 

But if being a bit gentler with Gabriel was what it was going to take to convince Crowley that all was well… that despite his new-found authoritative side, Aziraphale was still the same angel he’d fallen in love with, well, he was just going to have to...  _ compromise _ , a bit. Employ a softer hand. 

At least, where Crowley could see it. 

“You know, you went easy last week,” Crowley reminded him as he headed for the backroom door. “And look how he’s behaving this week. The gentler approach is  _ working _ , yeah? So… maybe you don’t even have to hurt him. Right? You could just… have him check in with you every week. Let us know if there’s any celestial schemings afoot. Not hurt him unless he… does something to  _ earn _ it, yeah?” 

Aziraphale grimaced, then schooled his expression into something softer, more sympathetic, as he turned to face Crowley. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, my love,” he sighed. “We don’t want him taking kindness for weakness.” 

“He hasn’t so far, has he?” Crowley pointed out. 

Aziraphale wasn’t so sure of  _ that _ , either. 

Gabriel was  _ terrified... _ of  _ him _ . But, Crowley… well, the last thing Aziraphale wanted was for Gabriel to get the idea that he could  _ use _ Crowley’s gentle nature -  _ manipulate _ Crowley and use him against Aziraphale. 

He was going to have to keep a close eye on the archangel’s interactions with his demon. 

His demon, who was gazing into his eyes now with such a pleading hope that Aziraphale could scarcely deny him. He softened, taking in a breath as he reached out to cautiously take Crowley’s hand - relieved and gratified when Crowley did not pull it away. 

“I’ll go easy,” he promised, nodding slowly, thoughtfully. “And… I’ll consider your suggestion. But… we must tread carefully, now that I’ve already rushed in, yes?” He gave Crowley a rueful, apologetic smile. 

Crowley nodded once in grim resignation, letting out a soft, disappointed sigh as he withdrew his hand. 

Aziraphale felt his frustrations rising as he turned once more and headed toward the backroom. Why couldn’t Crowley just trust that he knew what he was doing? Why did Crowley care so much about Gabriel’s well-being, after all the countless ways in which he’d hurt Aziraphale over the millennia? 

Why couldn’t Crowley just  _ understand _ why he  _ needed _ this? 

As he closed the door and turned to face Gabriel, Aziraphale froze. 

Gabriel was undressed, his clothing neatly folded on the desk as usual. He was kneeling, facing the door, in ready submission. And his wrists were already locked into the hellfire cuffs, raised a little bit in front of his bowed head, as if presenting the gesture for Aziraphale’s approval. 

Aziraphale did  _ not _ approve. 

He swiftly closed in on Gabriel, grabbing his arm just above the wrist and yanking both arms up sharply. Gabriel flinched, his muscles taut in Aziraphale’s grasp, and he bit back a startled cry, but he did not pull away. 

“Eager this week, aren’t we?” Aziraphale snapped, shaking him a little, and Gabriel winced, biting his lip to stifle a choked little sound of pained protest. “So eager you’ve presumed to start without me!” Aziraphale laughed coldly. “You think you always know how best to proceed, don’t you? Think you already know what I want from you?” 

“No,” Gabriel pleaded, his voice small and desperate. “No, I didn’t…” 

Aziraphale gripped his hair and jerked his head back, silencing him, leaning in close, his voice low and menacing. “ _ I decide _ when and how to employ the implements of your penance.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel replied in a defeated whisper. “I’m sorry, I - I just…”

“You just what?” Aziraphale snapped, releasing him with a rough shove. 

Gabriel hesitated, his breath shallow and unsteady, before concluding softly, “... wanted to please you.” 

Aziraphale went still, startled… and utterly at a loss as to how to _ respond _ to that. 

It could be an act, he reminded himself. Gabriel’s attempt to convince Aziraphale that he was contrite, and thereby avoid further pain and punishment. But then, for all his pomp and bluster, Gabriel had always been rather…  _ simple _ . He wasn’t the most convincing of liars, and his emotions - although most of what Aziraphale had seen of them had been anger, disgust, and contempt - were always plainly displayed across his face. 

And… he certainly  _ seemed _ sincere, his eyes shining with tears as he looked up at Aziraphale from his knees, then lowered his head, shaking it in defeat, that disgust with which Aziraphale was so familiar - directed toward  _ himself _ this time. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I - I should have waited to see what you wanted me to do. I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale let out a weary sigh, raising a hand to press against his eyes. It would be  _ so easy _ to take this excuse Gabriel had given him to punish him - to vent all of his anger and frustration on the archangel who had  _ placed himself, _ bound and helpless at Aziraphale’s feet. 

It was  _ incredibly _ tempting. 

Gabriel was… really rather appealing like this, all huge violet eyes and desperation to please. Aziraphale  _ knew _ without a doubt that whatever he told Gabriel to do - he’d do it. 

And… Crowley was still barely touching him. 

And  _ barely touching him _ was worse than not touching him at all, in terms of Aziraphale’s steadily building frustrations. 

It would be  _ so easy _ …

But… no. 

Aziraphale made an effort to restrain his impulses, to remember what was ultimately most important to him.

_ Crowley. _

He’d promised he’d  _ go easy _ on Gabriel today. And while it was unlikely, it was certainly  _ possible _ that Crowley could walk through the backroom door at any moment. Aziraphale did not want him to see anything that might destroy them for good. 

He drew in a slow, steadying breath, then allowed his hand to fall, gently, against the back of Gabriel’s head, thumb stroking slowly through the short, fine hair at the base of Gabriel’s neck.

“I know you’re sorry,” he relented softly. “I know you’re trying. I - do appreciate your willingness, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel let out a shallow, trembling breath, nodding, head bowed with relief. “Yes, sir,” he repeated quietly. “Th-thank you, sir. I’m sorry. Next time I’ll wait for your instructions.” 

Aziraphale nodded once in benevolent acceptance, then walked around behind Gabriel, his hand leaving the archangel’s hair to instead touch the faint but lingering marks from the previous week’s caning. They had faded - nearly, but not completely away. 

Gabriel shivered as Aziraphale’s fingertips lightly traced the straight, criss-crossed lines - but he kept still, allowing the touch without resistance. Aziraphale moved around to face him again, smiling as he tilted Gabriel’s head up to look at him. 

Gabriel’s eyes were wide with fear. “I - I didn’t heal them,” he blurted out. “I know they’re a-almost gone, but I didn’t. They just…” 

“I know, Gabriel,” Aziraphale cut him off, patient and sympathetic. “You’re an archangel. It’s simply your nature to heal quickly. No miraculous intervention required.” 

Gabriel closed his eyes, nodding, and lowering his head, gasping softly with relief. 

Aziraphale moved his hand away. “You’ve done very well this week.” He paused a moment before adding, “You may give your confession.” 

The words were memorized repetition by this point, of course, but Gabriel’s tone was humble and heavy with regret, as he ran through the usual list of his offenses. Aziraphale nodded in acceptance, then started to move past Gabriel toward the desk. 

“Sir?” Gabriel’s voice was quiet and hesitant. 

Aziraphale stopped, turning back toward him, a single brow lifted. He had determined to be a bit more lenient than usual during this session, but Gabriel’s constantly running  _ mouth _ was beginning to irritate him. 

“Yes?” he replied, terse and impatient, conveying clearly with his tone that this had  _ better be good _ . 

Gabriel drew in a soft, shuddering breath, lowering his head. “There are… other sins I’ve committed that I’d like to confess. To… repent of.” 

Aziraphale blinked, startled. He considered for a moment before moving around in front of Gabriel again, studying his face. He saw no trace of deception there, no hint of mockery or resentment. He hesitated, then nodded. 

“All right, then. Go ahead.” 

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and subdued. “I - I was resistant to you, and - your efforts to - help me to change. I - I disobeyed when you ordered me to be here, and - and then when you summoned me here, I was - rebellious and defiant and - disrespectful and insulting. And… I’m sorry.” He hesitated, looking up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, certain and solemn. “And I won’t do it again.” 

He could have been faking. Aziraphale really wasn’t sure. 

But really… what did it matter, if he was? This was exactly the sort of behavior he wanted to  _ encourage  _ in the archangel. And with enough repetition, with enough reinforcement, what was now an act could _ become _ sincere. 

Aziraphale crouched down to eye level with Gabriel, running a gentle hand through his hair, nodding slowly in acceptance of his repentance. 

“It’s very good that you acknowledge your sins, realize your wrong on your own,” he pointed out. “I do appreciate that.” He rose to his feet again. “Now stand and prepare for your penance.” 

Gabriel flinched a little, but nodded, and quickly rose to his feet. 

Aziraphale bound his wrists to the bar above his head as he’d done the last time, then took up the cane and came to stand in front of Gabriel, taking a moment to observe his demeanor. 

Gabriel’s head was low, his face pressed into his left arm, his breath quick and shallow with fear - but he offered no complaint, no resistance. 

Aziraphale moved around behind him to deliver the same twenty strokes as the prior week, though he found himself employing a bit less force this time. There wasn’t a trace of blood on the cane when he laid it aside, and the fresh welts across Gabriel’s back were far lighter than the last set he’d left there. 

He ran a hand lightly down Gabriel’s back, feeling a sense of satisfaction when Gabriel drew in a sharp breath, his body tensing at the contact. Aziraphale smiled as he allowed his fingers to trail just the slightest bit lower, and Gabriel shivered, his breath quickening with barely suppressed panic. 

“Shh…” Aziraphale soothed him in a tone that was hushed and gentle, and yet quietly commanding. “Keep still, my dear. Still and quiet. No matter what happens. Yes?” 

Gabriel nodded, his lower lip caught between his teeth, tears falling from behind eyes tightly shut - and Aziraphale felt an unbidden rush of something that was almost  _ affection _ for him. 

He was trembling, and terrified, and _ trying so hard. _

Aziraphale allowed his hand to rest there a moment, casually possessive… then passed his hand slowly up from the base of Gabriel’s spine to the top of his shoulders, healing every trace of injury in between. A wave of his hand released Gabriel’s wrists abruptly, both from the bar above his head and from the cuffs themselves, returning them neatly to their place on the desk. 

“We’re done for now,” he declared quietly. “Get dressed, you may go.” 

Gabriel turned to face him, confusion mingled with relief on his face. 

“You really are doing very well, my dear,” Aziraphale explained with a reassuring smile. 

“Thank you,” Gabriel whispered, a little dazed, as if struggling to process the fact that they were actually finished, and this was all he would have to endure this time. He was quiet while he put his clothes back on, and then turned back to face Aziraphale, lips parted, but hesitant. “I - I really am trying,” he said at last. “I want you to know that. I’m done - trying to fight you and - and have my own way. If there’s - anything I can do to - to better please you…” 

It was a temptation worthy of Crowley. 

Aziraphale could think of about a dozen different things Gabriel could have done to  _ please him _ right then - but none that he was going to allow at this moment. Not with Crowley in the very next room. Aziraphale moved in closer to Gabriel, his head tilted thoughtfully, as he considered his options. 

_ Penance. Keep it in line with his penance.  _

After a moment’s thought, Aziraphale closed the remaining distance between them, then reached out and slid his hands slowly under Gabriel’s jacket. Gabriel drew in a sharp breath, eyes going wide with alarm, but he offered no objection or resistance. Aziraphale could feel the taut, trembling tension in Gabriel’s body as he ran his hands up his chest to his shoulders. Gabriel closed his eyes, swallowing hard, but he didn’t move. 

Aziraphale looked up into his face, studying his reaction with a cool smile as he slid the jacket back off Gabriel’s shoulders, then crumpled and twisted it in his hand, so that the sleeves caught around Gabriel’s arms and held them tight, restrained behind his back. 

Gabriel gasped, wincing a little, distress clear on his face, though he bit his lip to hold back his protest. 

“Does it bother you?” Aziraphale couldn’t quite keep the slight teasing note from his voice, his tone hushed and speculative. “Me, handling your fine, expensive garment like this?”

“N-no,” Gabriel clearly lied, shaking his head. “No, you - can do whatever you want with…” 

“With it. And with you,” Aziraphale finished for him. “Yes?” 

“Yes,” Gabriel nodded, tears streaking his face. “Yes, sir…”

“It’s just a useless rag, really, isn’t it?” Aziraphale pressed. “Serves no purpose. It isn’t as if you, an  _ archangel _ , ever actually get  _ cold _ . It offers you no real...  _ protection _ … does it?” 

“No,” Gabriel agreed, his voice small and desperate. “ _ No _ …”

It was almost certainly a plea for Aziraphale to  _ not do _ what Gabriel was certainly sure by now that he was  _ going to do _ . 

Aziraphale let it slide, pretended it was simple agreement with his own words. 

“You have no need of it,” he stated firmly. “And it’s the next thing you can give, if you truly want to please me. The next step for you in shedding your pride and humbling yourself.” 

He released his clenched, twisting grip on the crumpled fabric and allowed it to fall the rest of the way off of Gabriel’s arms and onto the floor. He lifted his hand to brush against Gabriel’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped, and waited to speak again until Gabriel’s eyes blinked open, finding and focusing on his. 

“I want you to return to Heaven without this… and not wear it anymore.” 

Gabriel turned his head to look at the discarded garment on the floor, a depth of anxious uncertainty in his eyes. At last he nodded, clearly hesitant. 

“Okay,” he said softly. 

Aziraphale gently turned his face back toward him, waiting for eye contact before smiling warmly. “You’ve done very well this week, Gabriel. I’m very pleased with you.” 

******************************************************************************************

Gabriel returned to Heaven feeling confused, and more than a little anxious about the abrupt, drastic change in his wardrobe that was sure to be noticed, but mostly he felt…  _ encouraged _ . 

It had  _ worked _ . 

Fighting Aziraphale had proven disastrous, but submitting to him, offering up willing obedience in place of defiance, had resulted in a second week in a row of extremely light penance. Aziraphale had actually  _ said aloud _ that he was  _ pleased  _ with him. 

Escaping Aziraphale was impossible. But  _ appeasing _ him, on the other hand, well - Gabriel thought he was beginning to understand how better to do that. How to keep Aziraphale satisfied enough that he wouldn’t feel the need to hurt him so badly. 

_ He accepted your repentance. He said you’re doing well. You can do this. It’s gonna be… well, if not  _ all right,  _ at least… not  _ terrible. 

He went about his usual work in Heaven that week, and did his best to ignore the odd looks he received, the curious stares of the other angels as they took in his new look. And when he couldn’t quite make himself ignore it, he did notice that most of them didn’t actually seem to be making fun of him or looking down on him for it. They just seemed… surprised, and curious. 

Sandalphon, unsurprisingly, was the exception. 

Before leaving behind a file on Gabriel’s desk, he turned at the door, wrinkling his nose as he gave Gabriel a brief up and down look. 

“You’ve been visiting Earth quite a bit more frequently lately, haven’t you?” he observed. “Picking up some bad habits? How do the humans say… ‘slumming it’?” 

Gabriel had no idea what that phrase meant, or if Sandalphon was using it correctly, but he could tell by the contemptuous tone with which it was delivered that it was meant to be an insult. 

It didn’t matter what  _ Sandalphon _ thought of him. 

Gabriel barely even glanced at him, just opened the file and began to review it, speaking dismissively as he leafed through the pages. 

“Not all of us are so focused on our exterior appearance, Sandalphon. And if you’re so concerned with mine, then perhaps you have some personal vanity issues of your own to work on.” 

He didn’t look up to see the expression on Sandalphon’s face; the outraged sputtering sound he made provided more than enough satisfaction. Sandalphon didn’t seem to actually find any words to counter Gabriel’s observation, and went away without saying anything else at all. 

Which was what Gabriel had wanted anyway. 

Definitely a win. 

Gabriel checked the watch repeatedly throughout the week, carefully tracking the time as it counted down far too quickly toward his next meeting with Aziraphale - though with considerably less dread than he’d felt toward the last two sessions. If the next one was anything like those two, well - it was nothing he couldn’t handle. 

He still couldn’t see any way out of the situation, any true escape from Aziraphale - but at least he felt better prepared to deal with him now. 

He knew how to please him - how  _ not _ to draw his anger. 

_ Submit. Obey. Be on time, and then be quiet and good and do as he says.  _

He glanced nervously at the watch on the day of the meeting, while it still showed about an hour left. 

_ It’ll be okay. It will. Just… give him what he wants.  _

Gabriel put away his work and rose from his desk, heading toward the elevators. As he’d done the last two weeks, he intended to get to Earth well ahead of the meeting time, and avoid getting caught up in any sort of Heavenly project that might delay him. 

This week, Michael had other plans for him. 

She knocked and poked her head around his door before he could reach it. “Oh, good, you’re on your way already.” 

He frowned, a troubled feeling beginning to stir in his gut. “On my way where?” 

She blinked, surprised. “To the meeting, of course. Emergency meeting. Surely you heard. There was a memo.” 

Gabriel stifled a sigh of irritation. He hadn’t been paying much attention to Heavenly memos lately. 

“I was kind of on my way out, so… I don’t think I can make it…” 

“But you have to!” Michael protested, alarmed. “It’s very important.” 

Gabriel failed to stifle his sigh this time. “What’s so important-?” 

“The traitors,” she explained, urgency in her voice. “They’ve apparently been up to something. Lots of miracles being tossed about, strange powers being expended. They might be planning something. They might be a threat to us all, and we need to discuss it.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched. 

As much as he hated to admit it… as much as he hated the idea of sitting around a conference table discussing Aziraphale and Crowley with the other archangels... Gabriel had a sinking suspicion that this was a meeting that he should  _ most definitely _ attend. 

He glanced at his watch. There was still just a little less than an hour before he was supposed to be at the bookshop. 

_ You can make it. You can get to the bookshop in an instant, the moment you get to Earth.  _

_ Just go to the meeting. Redirect their attention. And  _ then _ go to the bookshop. You can make it on time. You won’t be late.  _

_ You  _ can’t  _ be late _ . 


	11. Chapter 11

“A meeting. About the traitors.” 

Michael nodded slowly, a single eyebrow raised, and Gabriel realized belatedly how flat and unnecessarily repetitive his response was. Her brow was knit in a slight frown, and Gabriel returned it with a rising sense of irritation. It wasn’t exactly his fault if he was processing a bit slowly at the moment. 

It was… quite a bit to process. 

“Yes, I’m on my way to the meeting just now,” Michael responded at last. “Walk with me?” 

Gabriel nodded dumbly, following her out of his office and down the hall toward one of Heaven’s many pristine conference rooms. His heart raced with apprehension, his stomach churning as he tried to imagine what the purpose of the meeting might be. He glanced at Michael, trying to read her expression, whether or not there was any trace of suspicion there – or disgust, or pity, or any of the other various responses that were likely if she had any idea of what the traitors had actually been up to lately. 

He was too irritated to feel properly relieved when he realized that her focus seemed to be more on his clothing choices than anything else. 

“Sandalphon mentioned you were… trying out a new look,” she remarked. “ _ Dressing down _ a bit?” She spoke the words with a stilted unfamiliarity, frowning a little. 

“Is it just an inherent flaw among archangels to have issues with vanity?” Gabriel snapped, letting out a sharp, impatient sigh. “I’m trying to do a  _ good _ thing, here…” His voice trembled with apprehension that he hoped she’d mistake for frustration. 

Michael’s frown deepened. “I didn’t say it was a  _ bad _ thing, Gabriel, I only meant…” 

“Is that so wrong?” Gabriel cut her off, defensive. “I’m trying to… leave behind vain indulgences and focus on what’s  _ really _ important.” 

“Hmm.” Michael’s tone was non-committal, her lips pursed slightly as they reached the conference room door. “Apparently my last several  _ memos _ didn’t quite make the cut.” 

Gabriel did not want to admit that he had no idea what memos she was referring to. 

He  _ did  _ realize that he’d been fairly distracted, lately, barely finishing his work on time and giving it a fraction of the effort he used to devote to his Heavenly duties. As they walked into the conference room, he was momentarily relieved to be spared the need to make excuses… but his relief faded into supreme discomfort as Uriel and Sandalphon, each already seated at the conference table, turned their gaze on him, serene yet piercing. 

_ How much do they already know?  _

He glanced at his watch, anxious. He needed to be heading for Earth, very soon. 

But he also  _ needed _ to know what this meeting was really about. Surely Aziraphale couldn’t blame him for being a few minutes late, if it was for the purpose of attending  _ this particular _ meeting. 

Not that Gabriel was going to say a word about it to him, he reminded himself with a sense of alarm. He wasn’t about to say anything that would bring the laser focus of Aziraphale’s wrath down upon the rest of Heaven. 

Even if Aziraphale asked. Even if he  _ already knew _ . 

Even if it meant that Gabriel himself would suffer the consequences of such deception. 

_ You’re being ridiculous,  _ he reminded himself with disgust.  _ Aziraphale couldn’t care less what Heaven says about him… what they’re planning.  _

_ He has  _ absolutely nothing  _ to fear in this room.  _

He made himself focus his attention on the conversation, which had already begun without him. They were only talking about the failed executions thus far - how shocking and terrifying it had been, when Aziraphale had  _ breathed hellfire _ at them. 

“My clothes were scorched after,” Uriel confessed, her tone hushed and wary, glancing toward the door, as if Aziraphale might still be lingering somewhere within earshot, ready to leap out and pounce. “Smelled of sulphur for days. It was… traumatic, I must say.”

Her  _ trauma _ was nearly  _ laughable _ to Gabriel at this point. 

She had  _ no idea _ what Aziraphale was actually capable of. 

He folded his hands on the table to still the impulse to fidget with them, subtly tilting his wrists back and glancing down at the watch. 

He had less than twenty minutes. 

He looked up to see that they were all three looking to him expectantly, as if waiting for his own dramatic, dreadful recollection of that day. 

“Yeah. It was scary,” he inserted flatly. “Wow, I just… did not see that one coming.” 

“I thought he’d burn us alive,” Sandalphon admitted, frowning thoughtfully. “Still not quite sure why he didn’t.” 

“Perhaps he and his pet demon have bigger plans,” Michael remarked, contempt mingled with apprehension in her voice, her expression grim. “Perhaps the entire affair of the executions was an attempt at misdirection. After all, I wasn’t here, but it sounds as if Aziraphale was far more threatening here than Crowley was in Hell. Crowley simply…  _ strongly suggested _ that we all leave them alone. Heaven  _ and _ Hell. And yet…”

Uriel nodded slowly, picking up on something in Michael’s words that Gabriel had yet to parse out. “And yet Crowley is the one who’s been exerting the most miraculous power, lately. Aziraphale’s always overused his miracles, but the last few weeks, there’ve been reports of increased  _ demonic _ miraculous activity - all centered around that little London bookshop.” 

“Do you think they could be preparing for some sort of attack?” Michael’s tone was one of quiet alarm. “Preparing… weapons of some kind?” 

“Specifically against Heaven,” Sandalphon surmised. “If it’s the demon doing the work.” 

“Most of it,” Uriel clarified. “Aziraphale has been using his angelic power as well, it’s just, well… he always sort of has done, hasn’t he?” 

“Difficult to tell the difference,” Michael agreed with a short, tight nod. “Perhaps we should initiate some sort of… surveillance? To try to figure out what they’re up to? Before they…”

“I’m pretty sure they just want us to leave them alone.” 

Silence met Gabriel’s quiet protest, and he was acutely aware of all three pairs of eyes locked onto him in surprise. His mind raced as he tried to come up with the right words - the words that would direct his fellow archangels away from Aziraphale, and the danger he presented to them.

The words that would direct them away from the  _ truth _ about what was happening to him.

“They don’t want anything to do with us. They aren’t… planning an attack. They just want to be left alone. They said as much the last time we tried… interfering with them. I think if we just stay away from them, then they’ll stay away from us.” 

Sandalphon was the first to break the silence, with a soft, scoffing sound. “We’d all love to indulge that sort of wishful thinking, Gabriel, but we’ve really no way of knowing that for sure, do we?” 

“No, it appears to be quite the opposite,” Uriel agreed, sounding anxious. “The increased miraculous activity has to have  _ some _ purpose, doesn’t it? Some…  _ target _ ?” 

“We could be the target.” Michael sounded grim and worried. 

“We don’t know that there  _ is _ a target,” Gabriel insisted. “Do we have any idea what type of miracles the demon’s been performing?” 

“No,” Uriel admitted. “The warding around that bookshop is fairly…  _ substantial _ . We can’t tell for sure. But it can’t possibly be anything good, can it? ” 

They continued with their anxious, baseless suppositions for a few minutes, the tension in the room rising with their fears. Gabriel was quiet, distracted by the smooth metal against his wrist - heavy, and slightly warm. He glanced down at it. 

He had less than ten minutes to get to the bookshop. 

“We have evidence that they’ve been planning something,” Sandalphon declared. “We ought to take preemptive action, before they can  _ finish  _ planning it, and attack us.” 

“And just what would you suggest that we do?” Gabriel snapped at him, impatient, and Sandalphon looked up at him, startled by his sharp tone. “We tried executing them both by the most lethal means possible - and they laughed in our faces. What else are we supposed to use, if hellfire and holy water are ineffective? Attacking them at this point would just be provoking them, like…” 

He stopped for a moment, searching his mind for an apt comparison - remembering all the times he’d corrected Aziraphale. All the times he’d subtly mocked him, to “put him in his place” - to remind him just how much Gabriel  _ knew better _ than he did. 

_ You knew  _ nothing.  _ What a fool you are.  _

“Like… tossing pebbles at a lion, until you manage to  _ get its attention _ . Until you  _ annoy _ it enough that it turns and comes after you.” 

Sandalphon dropped his gaze to the table, his mouth pulled into a tight, worried line. Uriel’s eyes were wide and fearful. Even Michael looked disturbed by the comparison. Gabriel continued at last, his voice soft with resignation. 

“Maybe they  _ are _ planning something. Maybe they’re not. Whatever they decide they want to do - there’s  _ nothing _ we can do to stop them. So how about we  _ don’t _ give them a reason to come after us if they’re not going to already?”

Everyone was quiet, sobered by his words. Gabriel felt a little guilty for frightening them so much.

_ But they  _ should  _ be frightened. They should know to stay far, far away from Aziraphale.  _

“There’s nothing we can do,” he reiterated quietly, staring down at the table. “Please, if anyone can think of anything, then… I’m all ears. Please do share.” 

The note of sarcasm in his tone was mild, regretful. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to try. 

He just… knew better, by now. 

He glanced up after a moment, to find them all staring down at the table as well - utterly at a loss. 

The watch was getting warmer. 

Five minutes left. 

“No one? Nothing?” Gabriel grimaced and nodded. “That’s what I thought. So we stay away from them. Leave them alone. It’s the  _ only _ thing to do.” His tone was certain, conclusive. “Now, if that’s settled, I have  _ real work _ to be doing. Let me know if any of you come up with anything that’s actually useful.” 

With those sharp, dismissive words, he rose from his seat and walked out the door, leaving them all sitting there stunned, in his wake. 

_ “Gabriel!”  _

He heard Michael calling his name, her voice breathless and uneven as she rushed after him. He ignored her and hurried his own pace, moving swiftly toward the elevator. 

Aziraphale’s call was far more compelling than hers. 

Instantly, miraculously, she appeared in front of him, blocking his path. 

“Gabriel - what is  _ wrong _ with you?” she demanded. 

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he snapped, defensive. “Get out of my way.” 

_ Nothing at all is wrong with you, no, you’re absolutely perfect, aren’t you? _ The sneering voice in his mind was suspiciously familiar.  _ There’s that arrogance again… that certainty that no one could possibly know better than you… _

“What was that in there?” Michael demanded, leaning in close, her tone hushed despite her clear frustration. “You’re Her messenger, Gabriel, they  _ listen _ to you…”

“Good. They should,” he declared, meeting and holding her gaze with firm determination. “I’m right about this.” 

Michael insisted, “You’re frightening them.” 

“They should be frightened,” Gabriel snapped. “Do they want the truth, or pretty words that make them feel better?” 

Michael stared at him, shaking her head slowly. “This isn’t like you,” she said at last. “Gabriel, lately,  _ you’re _ … not like you. I’m concerned. We all are.” 

Gabriel swallowed, averting his gaze, glancing uneasily toward the elevator - within view now, just a few yards away. 

“You’ve changed,” Michael declared quietly. “And it’s not just the way you choose to present yourself. It’s… your spirit, Gabriel. You seem… discouraged, and negative, and… well, sometimes… sometimes  _ cruel _ .” 

“The truth isn’t cruel,” Gabriel muttered, glaring past her, unable to bring himself to make eye contact. “Even if it hurts.” 

“It  _ can  _ be,” she insisted earnestly. “Gabriel, are you - are you all right? I know that… what happened with… with the Apocalypse… or what didn’t happen, rather… I know it’s upsetting. Confusing. To all of us, but… you can’t let it shake your conviction like this. Can’t let it - break your spirit…” 

“I’m not broken,” Gabriel snapped, blinking back tears, meeting her gaze then with a defiant glare. “Maybe  _ Heaven’s _ broken, have you considered that? Maybe… we’ve been doing things all wrong. Is it such a terrible thing to try to shed shallow vanity and focus on things that actually  _ matter _ ? Maybe we should  _ all _ be - fixing  _ ourselves _ . Not looking for a fight we can’t win. That’s all I’m trying to do. Fix myself. And you’re not helping. Look, can you just leave me alone?” 

Michael stared at him for a long moment, bewildered, lost - as if she was looking at a stranger. 

A part of Gabriel felt that maybe she was. 

She was standing inches away from him, but the distance between them felt insurmountable. Desperation rose up within him, as he glanced down at his watch, which was now counting down seconds rather than minutes. He wanted to spill it all out, to tell her everything, to explain his plight and plead for her help.

But no one could help him. 

Here in Heaven, surrounded by his brothers and sisters - Gabriel had never been so alone. 

With no more fanfare than a heavy, sorrowful sigh, Michael vanished in an instant - and finally, there were no remaining obstacles between Gabriel and the elevator. He let out a shaky sigh of relief, rushing across the remaining distance and boarding the elevator, hitting the “down” button repeatedly, impatiently, glancing down at the watch. 

Ten seconds. 

He was  _ most definitely _ going to be late. 

Once he reached Earth, he could miracle himself to the bookshop in an instant - but there was nothing Gabriel or anyone else could do about the tediously long ride down. 

Aziraphale was going to be angry. 

Aziraphale had been patient lately, almost kind - but Gabriel knew better than to trust that. He’d surely been just  _ waiting _ for Gabriel to fuck up again; and, well - Gabriel had worried and wondered what Aziraphale would do if he was late. It seemed, now, he was going to have the chance to find-

_ 00:00:00. _

The numbers flashed bright red in warning - and an excruciating electric pulse of agony emanated from the point of contact at Gabriel’s wrist, shooting up his arm and throughout his entire body, ripping through him with a violent force that stole his breath and drove him to his knees. He gasped for breath that wouldn’t come as fire seemed to consume him from the inside out, searing pain alighting every nerve. 

It passed after a few moments, leaving him grappling at the wall for purchase, trying to stand, trying to  _ breathe _ , overwhelmed with shock and pain. 

And then a second pulse hit, stronger than the first, sending him crashing back down to his knees. 

By the time the elevator reached Earth, the countdown on the clock - now moving backwards from zero - said that he was four minutes late. 

And the pain was continuous, no longer coming in interrupted pulses, but in a constant wave of fiery retribution for his accidental defiance. He couldn’t stand, could only crawl out of the elevator onto the ground floor. Immediately he tried snapping his fingers - a simple act made difficult by the violent tremors of pain that shook his body. 

At last, he managed it - and the next moment, he was crumpled on the bookshop floor at Aziraphale’s feet. 

*******************************************************************************************

The bookshop was quiet and tense. 

Aziraphale was seated in a chair he’d miracled up beside the front counter for the express purpose of waiting, a book open across his lap - though his eyes were continually drawn to Crowley, who was pacing with agitation, occasionally pausing long enough to look out the window, anxious and impatient. 

“Anything could have happened,” he pointed out, turning to face Aziraphale. “He’s a bloody archangel, yeah? Got important things to do. Might have gotten held up. Delayed. That’s all.” 

“It’s  _ important _ that he’s  _ here _ ,” Aziraphale said, cold and quiet. “He needs to better manage his priorities.” 

“He’ll be here soon,” Crowley reasoned, looking out the window again. “He’s not stupid, he’ll have figured out by now that he needs to  _ get here _ . And when he does… if he has a good reason, angel, an  _ explanation _ …” He turned toward Aziraphale again, his golden eyes large and pleading. “Well, then… maybe the watch itself… maybe that’s punishment enough, yeah?” 

Aziraphale gave him a dark, dubious look. “If he bothers to show up at all.” 

The features that had drawn him to this particular bit of tethering jewelry in the first place should have  _ ensured _ that Gabriel was here by now - driven by desperation to make the suffering stop. 

_ If _ he was suffering _ at all _ . 

Perhaps Crowley, in his foolish  _ mercy _ for the archangel, had conveniently managed to  _ forget _ that particular detail of the design. 

“He’ll show up,” Crowley said, quiet but certain, his tone heavy and troubled. He was quiet a moment before adding grimly, “No one else can turn it off.” 

And then, Gabriel was there. 

He was huddled on the floor, clutching his wrist, tugging uselessly at the watch, which was flashing a bright red alert. Aziraphale didn’t move as Gabriel lifted wild, agonized eyes, unfocused and hazy until they locked onto him… and then crawled to his feet, a choked sob escaping his lips. 

“I’m here,” he gasped out. “I’m sorry, I’m here, please,  _ please  _ make it stop…” 

Aziraphale regarded him coldly for a moment, and then returned his gaze to his book. 

A soft, dismayed gasp from Crowley’s direction  _ nearly _ made him flinch - a quiet, reproachful protest. 

“ _ Angel _ …”

Aziraphale made himself ignore his partner. Ignore them both. 

Gabriel had to  _ learn _ . 

It was terribly unfortunate, really. Things had been going so much better between him and Crowley lately. Gabriel’s cooperation had allowed Aziraphale to go a bit easier on him, and Crowley had seemed very pleased by the fact that the past two weeks, the archangel had left with barely any visible injury at all. 

Aziraphale, for his part, was left feeling restless, and vaguely frustrated - but he knew it was really best for everyone this way. At least for now. Rewarding Gabriel’s meager attempts at good behavior, and exercising restraint when punishment was necessary - it was still helping Gabriel to become acclimated to submission, to accept his place. And if it would  _ please Crowley _ , well - it was all worth it. 

Finally, it seemed as if they were beginning to reach a better place, again. 

But tolerating Gabriel’s tardiness - allowing the archangel to feel for  _ even a moment _ that  _ he _ was the one in control, that he could offer excuses and play on Aziraphale’s sympathies and therefore manipulate the situation in  _ his _ favor, well - that was a slippery slope down which Aziraphale had no intention of traveling. 

If Aziraphale didn’t make it undeniably clear that there were  _ consequences _ for such failings, then Gabriel might believe him to be…  _ soft _ , and malleable. He might start looking for ways out of their arrangement. 

He might even  _ find _ one. 

At the moment, Gabriel’s repeated, whispered pleas at Aziraphale’s feet revealed no trace of hope for escape - only desolate, abject desperation. 

“Please, sir, please make it stop, please, I’m sorry,” he gasped out, his head bowed low, his right hand clutching at his left wrist in a vain attempt to ease the pain. 

Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge him.

As he turned the page in his book, his gaze calmly focused on the words before him, Gabriel reached out and frantically caught at his sleeve - and Aziraphale’s mind flew, unbidden, to all the many times Gabriel had touched him before. An insincere smile as he clapped him on the back, or fake-punched him in the ribs, teasing and condescending, overly familiar and utterly unwelcome. 

Aziraphale jerked his sleeve out of Gabriel’s reach, then lashed out, swift and fierce, leaving his seat to seize Gabriel’s throat and shove him hard into the wall. 

His book was instantly, miraculously, safely closed on the counter. 

Gabriel’s hands immediately went up in a gesture of surrender, unresistant as Aziraphale tightened his grip and shoved him again, hard enough to knock the back of his head into the wall, leaning in close and biting off his words with quiet menace. 

“Do  _ not. Touch _ me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel sobbed, tears streaking his face as he closed his eyes. “Please, I’m sorry, please make it stop…”

“ _ Shut your mouth _ .” 

Admittedly, Gabriel gave it a valiant effort, nodding desperately as he bit down on his lower lip, though his mouth was trembling, and he couldn’t quite stifle a pained, pleading whimper. 

Aziraphale was acutely aware of Crowley’s focus on him from across the room - sharp, golden eyes watching his every move. He drew in a slow breath, restraining his furious impulses, and forcing himself to maintain control - to make this about teaching a lesson, rather than venting his anger.

He released Gabriel’s throat, and instead firmly grasped his jaw, turning Gabriel’s face toward him and waiting until Gabriel had opened his eyes and met his gaze to speak - quiet but severe, as if scolding a misbehaving child. 

“I was  _ very clear. Don’t be late _ . When you  _ disobey _ … there are  _ consequences _ .” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel nodded desperately. “Please, I didn’t mean to, I was trying to be on time, I really was trying,” he sobbed, softly despairing. “Michael called a meeting and I had to be there, it was  _ important _ , I couldn’t… I didn’t… know what to do, I’m sorry… please, sir… please, I’m sorry…”

“ _ Quiet. _ ”

Aziraphale remained stern, but softened a bit at the pleading explanation. He kept silent, patiently waiting for Gabriel to regain enough control to obey, waiting as he managed to suppress his quiet sobs until they were completely silent - his jaw slack and unresistant in Aziraphale’s grasp, though his entire body still trembled with pain. 

Only then did he finally touch the watch - first with his ring, registering Gabriel’s arrival and bringing its relentless punishment to an end; and then with a brush of his fingertips, causing it to fall open and away from Gabriel’s wrist, into his own hand. Gabriel gasped with relief, bowing his head again as Aziraphale slipped the watch into his pocket, for now. 

Crowley let out a slow sigh, nodding a little. “Good,” he whispered with clear relief. “Good.” 

Aziraphale suppressed his irritation with an effort. 

Why did Crowley care so much what happened to Gabriel? 

Gabriel  _ deserved _ this. 

Countless times, he’d been cold and severe with Aziraphale over the slightest mistakes - refusing to listen when he’d tried to explain various choices that he’d made, when he’d tried to make the archangel understand. Again and again, Gabriel had dismissed his words and treated him like an ignorant, incompetent fool - when  _ Gabriel _ was the one who knew little to nothing of Earth, and  _ cared _ nothing about learning, either. 

Aziraphale was more than happy, now, to remedy his ignorance. 

Casting a glance up toward Crowley for his reaction, Aziraphale grasped Gabriel’s throat again - loosely this time, pressing him back against the wall again, just to focus his attention. He kept his voice quiet and controlled, but pointed. 

“Were any of  _ my _ explanations ever good enough for  _ you _ , Gabriel?” he asked. “When I’d attempt to explain to you why I’d failed… what would you say to me?” 

Gabriel looked stricken, tears glittering in his eyes as he choked back sobs, struggling to maintain his composure amidst his mingled relief and terror. 

“N-no excuses,” he whispered at last, eyes downcast, cringing as he spoke. 

“No excuses,” Aziraphale repeated firmly. “You own up to your mistakes. Your  _ failures _ . And you  _ accept  _ the consequences for them.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, small and subdued. “I’m sorry. It’s… my fault I was late. I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale regarded him for a moment, thoughtful, before at last releasing him and standing up straight, towering over him where he huddled with his back against the wall. 

“Get up,” Aziraphale instructed quietly. “Go prepare for your punishment.” 

Gabriel’s eyes darted up to his, wide and startled, his lips parted in instinctive preparation to protest - but he closed his mouth, swallowing slowly, and then nodded in dejected acceptance. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale watched, impassive, as he struggled to rise, visibly exhausted already from the pain he’d already suffered, and only made it as far as his knees. 

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley again, who was watching him with solemn, disappointed eyes. Aziraphale held his gaze for a long, intent moment, biting his lip, wrestling with indecision. 

Then, he sighed. 

“All that said,” he relented, “I  _ can _ understand that… if a meeting was called unexpectedly that you were  _ required _ to attend, well… it may have been  _ difficult _ to get away.” 

Gabriel glanced up at him, nodding slowly. “Yes, sir.” 

“You still must learn to better manage your priorities.” Aziraphale arched a brow, severely, and Gabriel winced a little, nodding again. “But… I do understand that… you  _ have _ been trying, Gabriel. Very hard, lately. That has not escaped my notice.” He considered for a moment, glancing toward Crowley again. “You were five minutes late,” he stated at last. “Three lashes for each minute. Does that sound fair?” 

Gabriel held his gaze, uncertain and warily hopeful. “Y-yes?” he whispered, then amended, “Yes, sir. That - that sounds - more than fair.” 

“I do realize that it was not  _ intentional _ disobedience.” Aziraphale schooled his expression into a sympathetic smile, his mind already going over the ways in which he could use this… the options as to where he could take things from here. “Accidents will happen, on occasion.” He reached down a hand to steady Gabriel under his arm, to help him to his feet, then rested it reassuringly against his back for a moment. “All right,” he said gently. “Go on, then. I’ll be right in.” 

He turned toward Crowley, a single brow lifted in a silent question. 

Crowley nodded slowly, letting out a trembling breath in relief, offering Aziraphale a tentative smile of approval. Aziraphale knew him well enough to know that he’d have preferred no punishment at all, but a mere fifteen lashes was far less than Aziraphale had dealt the archangel in the past. It was not enough to require Crowley’s miraculous intervention afterward, if Aziraphale kept control. 

It was compromise enough to make Crowley feel  _ listened to _ \- to make him feel as if he’d placated and reasoned Aziraphale down from his wrath - and for the moment, that seemed to be enough. 

Crowley’s lips parted as if to speak - then he hesitated, glancing toward the backroom door. 

Whatever he might have said, he didn’t want Gabriel to overhear. 

He just nodded once more in approval. 

Aziraphale nodded back in acknowledgement, then turned toward the backroom. 

*************************************************************************************

Gabriel’s heart raced as he quickly undressed; his hands shook as he folded his clothing and placed it on the desk. His eyes locked onto the hellfire whip sitting there, along with the cuffs and the cane - the last of which he was fairly certain would not be used today. 

He shivered as he knelt on the cold wooden floor, sick with the memory of the hellfire lash, tearing through his skin, searing his flesh and leaving every nerve aflame. His entire body was still trembling, taut and aching with the residual echoes of the watch’s punishment. He still felt on the verge of tears, his emotions swelling up to the surface and choking him, stifling him until he felt that he might  _ drown _ in them - and the strongest and most prevalent of those swirling, overwhelming emotions was  _ pure fucking terror _ . 

Because Aziraphale’s “fair and reasonable” routine was surely just for Crowley’s benefit. 

He’d been just  _ waiting _ for this - for Gabriel to  _ fuck up _ . 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched as the backroom door opened and Aziraphale stepped inside. He quietly closed the door behind him, moving to the desk without a word. Gabriel instinctively wrapped his arms around his torso, fighting to still the violent tremors that shook him, biting his lip to stop his own pleading words from spilling out. 

Aziraphale came to stand facing him, holding out the cuffs in one hand. 

Gabriel took them and put them on, feeling the overwhelming sense of weakness and exhaustion - wishing for once that it would simply pull him all the way under, into the darkness - away from this place. The faint but insistent burn of the metal against his wrists began a few moments after - a mere, almost  _ laughable _ annoyance after the agony of the watch. 

And in comparison to whatever it was that Aziraphale was certainly about to do to him. 

Aziraphale stood facing him for a long moment, regarding him with calm contemplation. When he spoke, his voice was soft with gentle resignation. 

“Please go and get my gloves from the top left drawer of the desk, dear.” 

Gabriel’s stomach plummeted at the mention of the gloves, his heart thudding in his ears loud enough to drown out anything else Aziraphale might have said after that. Aziraphale had only used the gloves once before - the time when he’d been  _ so fucking furious _ that he’d feared he’d lose control and  _ permanently maim _ Gabriel without them. 

The time when he’d held him down on his knees on the floor and fucked him. 

Aziraphale’s external calm was nothing more than a facade. 

This was going to be very,  _ very _ bad. 

He looked up at Aziraphale - only realizing that he hadn’t moved when he saw the severe, warning look on the principality’s face, the impatient purse of his lips. He nodded hurriedly, drawing in a shaky breath and getting unsteadily to his feet. He went to the desk, his movements stiff and robotic, his head spinning. He wanted to refuse, to run, to turn and  _ fight _ . 

He knew better. 

He opened the top right desk drawer. 

Instantly, Aziraphale was right beside him, and, with a flick of his wrist, the drawer slammed hard on Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel cried out in pained indignation, trying to pull his hand free, but Aziraphale responded with a swift, ringing slap across his face that silenced his voice and stilled his struggles. 

“ _ Quiet. _ ” 

Aziraphale’s command was low and warning, close enough that Gabriel could feel his breath against his face. He nodded hurriedly, biting his lip, choking back a cry as Aziraphale’s mouth twisted in a vindictive expression and he reached down to shove the drawer shut harder. 

“Are you at all  _ capable _ of following simple commands, Gabriel?” Aziraphale demanded in a low, furious hiss. “Of doing as you are told?” 

Gabriel nodded again, tears of pain springing to his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. “Y-yes, sir. I can. I will, I’m sorry…” 

“Really?” Aziraphale gave him a cruel, angry smile. “Because I quite clearly said the top  _ left  _ drawer, didn’t I?” 

“Yes,” Gabriel replied, his head bowed, tears slipping down his face. 

He didn’t really remember which drawer Aziraphale had said, now. Too distracted with pain and terror, too badly shaken to focus - he’d gotten it wrong. 

Of course he had. 

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…” 

He just felt so utterly, hopelessly  _ stupid _ . Such an idiotic mistake, all he had to do was listen and obey, and he couldn’t even manage that, couldn’t just do as he was  _ fucking told _ and avoid pissing Aziraphale off even further, and why the  _ fuck _ was he  _ crying again _ ? 

“Can you do as you’re told, if I allow you to try again?” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, leading. 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel choked out in a low, hushed sob. “Yes, I - I can. Please.  _ Please _ .” 

He sank to his knees, his hand still caught tight in the drawer, throbbing at the painful pressure of it… his head bowed, resting in his free hand as he struggled to stifle his own ridiculous emotional reaction. 

Aziraphale stared down at him for a long moment before letting out a weary, frustrated sigh and at last opening the drawer, allowing Gabriel to remove his hand. 

He cradled it carefully in his good hand, weeping softly, as Aziraphale reached into the correct drawer and retrieved his gloves himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel pleaded. “I’m sorry…”

Aziraphale put on the gloves, slowly, methodically, in silence - and then crouched down, reaching out one pristinely gloved hand to lift Gabriel’s chin, demanding eye contact, as he reached down to firmly catch Gabriel’s wrist and lift his injured hand in front of his face. Gabriel cringed, braced for agony as he looked up into Aziraphale’s face - but to his stunned confusion, there was sorrow and sympathy in Aziraphale’s ice blue eyes, his expression one of patient exasperation, as he gently slid his hand down from Gabriel’s wrist, over his hand - healing away every trace of damage. 

“I know you’re sorry, my dear. And I’m going to ensure that you remember to do better next time.” He was quiet for a moment before reminding Gabriel, “They’re for your benefit, you know. For your protection. As I said - accidents do happen. And I would not want my frustration to result in undue damage being inflicted upon you.” 

Gabriel nodded in acceptance. “Th-thank you,” he whispered, almost automatically, staring numbly down at his whole, unblemished hand. 

Aziraphale sighed as he rose to his feet.

“Stand.” 

Gabriel obeyed. 

With a swift wave of his hand, Aziraphale had him bound in the same manner as the last two weeks, with his hands locked to the bar above his head - his entire body bare and exposed to whatever punishment Aziraphale might decide to inflict. Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat, a choked, panicked little sound escaping his lips as Aziraphale stood close behind him, placing his hands firmly on Gabriel’s hips. He shifted in against Gabriel, lifting one hand to brush gently across Gabriel’s cheek. 

“You’re going to be quiet and good for me, aren’t you, dear?” 

Gabriel nodded, his breath quick with terror. “Y-yes,” he managed to force out in a whisper. 

“That’s it,” Aziraphale murmured, fingers carding through Gabriel’s hair with approval and affection. “Very good.” 

Gabriel braced himself for another violent, intrusive assault - Aziraphale holding him fast with grasping hands and forcing his way inside. 

But… that did not happen. 

Aziraphale took the whip from the desk, as Gabriel had initially feared, and moved to stand behind him, readying to strike. And then, he proceeded to deliver precisely the number of lashes he’d said he would. Not a single one more - and not with even  _ close _ to as much force as he’d used before. 

Gabriel had been  _ absolutely sure _ that the whole “three lashes for every minute you were late” bit had been solely for Crowley’s benefit. 

But exactly fifteen lashes later… Aziraphale finished and set the bloodied whip aside. 

Gabriel  _ almost  _ managed to keep his silence throughout. Even inflicted with a somewhat more moderate hand than the last time, the hellfire whip was agonizing, slicing into his back and leaving trails of fire in its wake. And with the sheer exhaustion of all that he’d already suffered in the past hour, it was simply too much. 

But he didn’t scream, or cry out, or make any sound strong enough to escape the walls of the room. When Aziraphale was finished, he hung weakly from the chains that held him, his face streaked with tears, his soft sobs muffled by the press of his face into his own arm. 

A wave of Aziraphale’s hand released the cuffs from the bar, and Gabriel collapsed to the floor on his knees, gasping with relief, still attempting to stifle his sobs. Aziraphale was standing in front of him, very near… within reach. 

Gabriel lowered his face to the floor at his feet, trembling hands reaching out to touch his shoes before he pressed his lips against the dusty leather. 

Aziraphale stood still for a moment, neither forbidding nor encouraging the gesture, before finally crouching down, reaching out a gentle hand to stroke through Gabriel’s damp hair in soothing reassurance. 

After a moment, his hand slid down, hovering over Gabriel’s back and healing away the bloody lashes, leaving only the hellfire burns as a reminder of Gabriel’s failure, and of his mercy. 

“Look at me, Gabriel,” he ordered softly. 

Gabriel obeyed immediately, rising as far as his knees, and looking up into Aziraphale’s eyes without hesitation, unwilling to do anything to jeopardize Aziraphale’s rather lenient mood of the moment. Aziraphale was studying him with cool, appraising eyes that made Gabriel nervous, made him want to look away - but he did as he was told, and held Aziraphale’s gaze, and waited. 

“This meeting which was so very important that it kept you from our appointment,” Aziraphale began, and Gabriel winced, anxious. “What was it about?” 

Gabriel hesitated, his heart clenching tight in his chest. 

Aziraphale smiled, knowing and mildly amused, but there was a dark warning in his eyes, his words deceptively soft. 

“If you lie to me… I’ll know.” 

There was no choice. Of course there wasn’t. Aziraphale probably already knew the answer to his question anyway.

“It was… about you,” Gabriel admitted. “And Crowley. And… the miracles you’ve been doing around this shop lately. They’re… concerned. Think maybe you’re… planning an attack.” 

Aziraphale let out a soft little huff of laughter at their misconceptions, and Gabriel felt his face flush with inexplicable shame, as Aziraphale lifted a hand to run idly through Gabriel’s hair again, musing, “Well. Perhaps I should pay them another visit. Clarify their confusion. Allow them to ask their questions of me in person.”

“No, no,” Gabriel pleaded, hating the way his words quaked with fear. “You don’t have to do that, they’re not going to do anything, I made sure they wouldn’t…”

Aziraphale met his eyes, his own narrowed and calculating over a cool smile. “We could give them a little demonstration - a reminder of why it’s best they just leave me and Crowley alone.”

Gabriel felt his helpless tears return at the thought of Aziraphale returning to Heaven, and hurting the other archangels, or hurting  _ him _ in front of them, making it perfectly clear to all of them just how much power he held… and just how far Gabriel had fallen. 

“They’ll leave you alone,” Gabriel insisted. “They’re too scared of you to try anything, I swear. They all thought you were fucking terrifying, okay? With the hellfire, and all, and Michael wasn’t even  _ there _ and she’s scared of you. She said Crowley wasn’t all that scary, but  _ you _ …” 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, sharp displeasure in his expression, and Gabriel swiftly tried to backtrack, to undo whatever damage he’d done with the rambling stream of words that he couldn’t seem to quench. 

“They won’t mess with Crowley, either, they won’t!” he insisted. “They know he’s under your protection, they know the two of you are together, so they aren’t going to try anything with either of you, I swear it!” 

Aziraphale’s eyes were cold and angry, his voice smooth as steel. “There are very simple ways to make  _ absolutely sure _ of that.” 

“Please,” Gabriel choked out, closing his eyes against the hot tears that streaked down his face. “Please, don’t do that… I told them they were wrong, and that… even if they weren’t, it didn’t matter. They can’t stop you. They shouldn’t try. I told them to leave you alone…”

“Well, you’ve just saved the day, once again, haven’t you, oh mighty archangel?” Aziraphale smirked, and Gabriel’s heart raced. His tone was light, almost playful, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, an unpleasant twist to his mouth. “You always know what’s best, don’t you?” 

“No, no,” Gabriel insisted, scared and submissive. “No,  _ you _ know. It’s - whatever  _ you _ feel is best. Sir.” 

Aziraphale continued carding his fingers slowly through Gabriel’s hair, his gaze cold and piercing for a long tense moment - before he abruptly relented with a sigh, his expression softening. 

“You have been doing well, Gabriel,” he admitted with some warmth. “Despite your mistakes today. I would just… hate to see you lose the progress you’ve made.” 

“I won’t,” Gabriel promised in a hushed, hurried whisper. “Please, I won’t…”

Aziraphale let out a sharp, impatient sigh, and Gabriel immediately went quiet, biting his lip and lowering his head. 

Aziraphale tilted his head back up again, meeting his eyes. “I’m going to help you make sure that you don’t,” he informed Gabriel softly. “Crowley doesn’t like to see you punished too severely - and I must admit he does have a point. Mere punishment for mistakes is a useful tool - but it isn’t enough. How can you be expected to exhibit the expected good behavior, if those expectations have not been made perfectly clear? You need to be taught what’s acceptable and what isn’t. You need lessons, Gabriel - consistent, and regularly reinforced.” 

“Yes, sir.” Gabriel didn’t know exactly where Aziraphale was going with this, but he had a deeply uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Aziraphale held his gaze, a secretive, unsettling light in his eyes. His voice was soft, almost enticing. 

“Will you let me teach you, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel had no idea exactly what he was agreeing to - but he knew that there was only one answer he could safely offer. 

“Y-yes, sir.” 

“Very good, my dear.” Aziraphale nodded, gentle and approving as he slid his hand out of Gabriel’s hair and instead lifted his hand, taking the watch from his pocket. With a flick of his fingers, the cuffs opened and fell from Gabriel’s wrists to the floor. 

Gabriel resisted the panicked impulse to yank his hand away, and kept still and allowed Aziraphale to lock the watch back into place around his wrist - his heart sinking at the audible click as it closed. 

He knew now, better than ever, how utterly  _ trapped _ he was with the thing on. 

Aziraphale touched his ring to the watch, restarting the countdown. Gabriel looked down at it, frowning, puzzled. 

06:00:00. 

“ _ Six _ days from now,” he said, quiet and uncertain. 

“You have a conflict in schedule?” Aziraphale’s tone was deceptively mild. 

“No,” Gabriel hurriedly assured him. “No, just… whenever you tell me to be here, I’ll be here.” 

Azirpahale’s expression was solemn, a dangerous gleam in his eyes belying the soft certainty of his words. 

“You won’t be late.” 

Gabriel shook his head, drawing in a sharp, shuddering breath. “N-no, sir, I won’t. I won’t be late.” 

“Very good,” Aziraphale repeated, smiling. “Crowley and I have plans,” he explained at last. “Yes, six days from now, around this time, should do nicely. Very well, then. Go along.” He rose to his feet, generously reaching out to help Gabriel rise as well, speaking ominous words of encouragement as Gabriel carefully dressed and prepared to leave. 

“I do know you’re trying, my dear. And I promise you… I’m going to help you do better.” 

*************************************************************************************

Crowley paced impatiently back and forth outside the closed door - far too anxious this time to allow himself the luxury of denial afforded him by retreat to the upstairs apartment. Aziraphale had insinuated that he was going to be lenient - going to show mercy. 

But Crowley knew better than to assume that he actually would. 

He listened closely, but could make out very little of what was happening in the room. He winced at the sound of a sharp slap - but no further sounds of violence immediately followed it. Soft voices, words he couldn’t distinguish - and then, the sound of the whip falling, exactly fifteen lashes, just as Aziraphale had promised. And then, more soft voices. Once or twice, Aziraphale’s voice had risen in anger. Once or twice, he’d caught the sound of a soft sob - but mostly, it had been quiet talking. 

And Crowley well knew - his angel  _ did so _ love to lecture. 

He could have simply gone in at any point and seen for himself what was happening - but he didn’t want to interrupt Aziraphale unnecessarily, to make him feel as if Crowley didn’t trust him, just now when it seemed that he was attempting a softer touch, even in response to Gabriel’s disobedience. If Aziraphale was beginning to become kinder, gentler, Crowley wanted to encourage that, not anger and irritate him into taking out that irritation on Gabriel. 

So, he waited, and listened, and tried to take reassurance in the fact that he wasn’t hearing yelling, or crying, or the relentless fall of the whip that  _ must _ have occurred the last time it had been used - the time when he’d hidden upstairs during the actual punishment, only coming downstairs at the agreed upon time, to heal Gabriel afterwards. 

This time, Crowley was relieved to see that there appeared to be no healing miracles necessary. 

Gabriel came out of the backroom, walking at a normal pace, with a normal stance - apparently not badly injured. He seemed a little lost, a little hazy and distracted, as he made his way toward the front door to make his exit. 

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Crowley, his violet eyes locking onto Crowley’s searching gaze. He swallowed hard, his jaw working as he struggled to hold back his emotions - and then abruptly moved toward Crowley. 

Crowley tensed, braced for attack - but Gabriel just fell to his knees in front of Crowley, reaching out to grasp his hand and press his own forehead against it with a desperate fervency. Crowley just stared, stunned, as Gabriel whispered, his voice trembling, hushed and nearly reverent. 

“Thank you.  _ Thank you. _ ” 

Crowley blinked, mildly uncomfortable with the profuse gesture, and mildly bewildered as well. “Uh… yeah, sure. No problem.” He glanced uneasily toward the backroom door, through which Aziraphale had yet to appear. “Well, go on, then, be on your way.” 

Gabriel nodded, obediently rising to his feet and heading for the door - moments before Aziraphale left the backroom and stepped into the shop. 

He seemed calm, perhaps vaguely troubled - lost in his own thoughts. As if conflicted, and considering his actions. As if a bit surprised at himself, or a bit surprised at what he felt about what he’d just done. 

Crowley felt a rush of love and relief, carried in on the clarity of realization of just exactly what Gabriel had been thanking him for. 

Aziraphale  _ had indeed _ honored Crowley’s wishes, and been gentler this time. 

In spite of Gabriel’s offense, and his clear anger, Aziraphale had restrained his own hand, and not punished him too severely. 

_ Maybe it’s working. Maybe he really is changing for the better.  _

Aziraphale looked up at him, then, and went still when he noticed Crowley’s focused attention. He glanced self-consciously away for a moment, before meeting Crowley’s eyes again. 

“What?” 

Crowley didn’t say anything. He just swiftly crossed the room to his angel and embraced him, holding him tight. Aziraphale laughed with surprise, an affectionate hand rising to cup the back of Crowley’s head, his thumb gently stroking through the hair at the base of his neck. 

“Crowley, darling… what’s all this?” he asked, bewildered and softly amused. 

Crowley just shook his head, too choked with tears of relief to speak for a moment. He swallowed, composed himself, blinking back tears. 

“It’s just…  _ thank you _ , angel. Thank you.” 

He drew back to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, feeling himself falling all over again for the softness, the warmth in his angel’s face. His eyes were large and solemn, his expression soft with affection and gratitude. 

“I should be thanking you,” Aziraphale declared, his words quiet but heavy with emotion. “Crowley, my love, I - I need you. I see that now, more than ever. To help temper my… well, my  _ temper. _ ” He gave Crowley a sad, rueful smile. “You’re my conscience at times when I would let my anger get the better of me. Thank you, for… not allowing me to give in to the basest parts of my nature.”

Crowley nodded, smiling through his tears, feeling a tremendous weight lift from his shoulders, relief sweeping in like a cool, crisp breeze. 

Aziraphale studied him closely, reaching up to brush gentle fingers through his hair, looking into his eyes with adoration. “We’re going to be all right,” he stated softly, his own relief evident in his hushed, slightly breathless words. “Everything’s going to be all right.” 

Crowley hesitated just a moment before indulging his impulse - a desire he hadn’t genuinely felt in weeks. He slid his arms carefully around Aziraphale’s waist, shifting in closer to him, holding his gaze solemnly for a long moment, before closing the distance between them to softly kiss his lips. 

It was tentative, a little hesitant - a bit like a first kiss all over again. Careful and uncertain. 

But for the first time since he’d found Aziraphale with Gabriel, Crowley felt a sense of hope and reassurance, as he allowed himself at last to begin to believe that maybe - just  _ maybe _ , everything  _ actually was  _ going to be all right. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY that it's been so long since I've updated, but I promise I haven't abandoned this story in any way!!! And updates should be much more regular now... 
> 
> I've been busy MOVING!! LOL - it's been a whole thing. Super exhausting and stressful but now I'm in a super pretty new house that I LOVE - and settling back into normal life <3 <3 <3 
> 
> I will be doing my best to update at least weekly from here on out!! Thanks for your patience with me - I hope I haven't lost y'all because of the long wait *hugs* 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> Gabriel... will not. :(

“Crowley, darling?”

Crowley paused the YouTube video on his phone, a rather amusing montage called “Instant Karma” which featured a series of infuriatingly dickish humans, paying for their dickish behavior in very immediate and hilarious ways. There were quite a few satisfying comeuppances that he filed away mentally for reference later - and at least one that he could personally take credit for orchestrating. 

“You haven’t any… previous engagement for this evening, have you? I must confess, I’ve… well, I’ve planned a bit of a surprise...”

Crowley’s amusement faded, his good mood becoming unpleasantly guarded as Aziraphale approached with an uncertain, hopeful smile. 

“Yeah?” Crowley looked down at his phone, swallowing hard. “Can’t say as I’ve  _ enjoyed _ your  _ surprises _ of late.” 

Aziraphale winced, and Crowley stubbornly set his jaw against an unbidden wave of guilt. 

“Yes, well… I do hope that the evening I’ve got planned will remedy that. If you’re… willing to allow me to…  _ try _ to please you?” 

Crowley looked up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, his own narrowed with suspicion. 

“No, not like that,” Aziraphale hurried to clarify. “Not…  _ necessarily _ .” 

Crowley leaned back against the sofa, studying his partner closely. “What did you have in mind?  _ Necessarily _ .” 

Aziraphale carefully sat down beside him, hands fluttery and fidgeting as he visibly restrained himself from physically bridging the distance between them. “Just… dinner. And… an evening of theatre?” 

Crowley frowned, puzzled. “There’s theatre? On a Monday?” 

“It’s a press preview,” Aziraphale explained, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But that’s simple enough to get around. No one has to notice we’re there at all if we don’t want them to. The company is planning to go abroad in a few weeks, and they’re trying to get a bit of media attention. I thought perhaps if we enjoyed tonight, we might make plans to see them again later, for a  _ real  _ performance.” He hesitated, a slow swallow visible in his throat as he looked down at his lap. “If… if you like.” 

The softness, the timidity of Aziraphale’s cautious words filled Crowley’s chest with a hollow ache. 

As if it was possible that Crowley wouldn’t want to spend  _ any _ time with Aziraphale, no matter how appealing the suggested activity. 

As if it was possible that Crowley might not even be with Aziraphale  _ at all  _ in a few weeks’ time. 

Crowley was quiet for a moment. “What’s the show?” he asked at last. 

“ _ The Taming of the Shrew _ ,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley winced a bit. “Not one of my favorites.”   
  


Aziraphale finally ventured to touch Crowley, reaching out to take his hand where it rested on his knee. “Yes, I know,” he admitted ruefully, his tone touched with affectionate amusement. “I know there are certain elements to the story that you find offensive. But… I must say you’re quite fetching when you’re fuming.” 

Crowley lifted a brow at Aziraphale’s subtly teasing tone - rather daring given recent events. “Well, then,” he remarked with a slight warning edge. “Just lately you must find me irresistible.” 

Aziraphale lowered his gaze, silently apologetic, gently squeezing Crowley’s hand. “At least it’s one of the funny ones. Yes?” He raised his eyes to meet Crowley’s through lowered lashes, the hint of a hopeful smile at the corner of his mouth. 

Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes and throwing up the hand that held his phone in a half-hearted gesture of defeat. “Fine, all right. Better than staring at a bloody screen all night. Let’s go.” 

When Crowley and Aziraphale went out for dinner, they typically chose a place Aziraphale liked, as Crowley wasn’t all that particular when it came to food in general; as long as he had a half-decent wine to enjoy with the meal, he’d be fine. But tonight, Aziraphale had made a reservation at a restaurant he knew Crowley preferred. 

The quiet tension between them eased a bit as Aziraphale pulled out Crowley’s chair for him and took his place beside him. As Crowley surveyed the elegant dining room with its romantic lighting and tasteful decor, he found himself relaxing, almost against his will, if only at the warm familiarity of it all.

They hadn’t gone out for an evening together like this - well, not since Crowley had come home early to find Aziraphale with Gabriel. He’d wondered in that moment - devastated and heartbroken - if he’d lost his angel forever. If he’d ever again see Aziraphale in the same light as before. 

And… here he was, in the soft glow of the candlelight, familiar warmth shining in his eyes. 

There was no mention of Gabriel, or any related unpleasantry - and for the first time in a long time, Crowley found that he was almost able to put it out of his mind. Aziraphale had been softening lately, hadn’t he? Returning, slowly, to the former kind, gentle nature that had so drawn Crowley to him in the first place, 6000 years ago? 

And tonight, that softer side of Aziraphale was on full display, reminding Crowley of just why he’d loved him for so long. 

Aziraphale was warm and attentive, his crystal blue eyes focused on Crowley in a way that carried the intoxicated attraction of an enamored first date, mingled with the easy affection of the millennia they had shared. He made observations and asked questions and drew Crowley into conversation with expert ease. 

Crowley felt attractive, and interesting, and dearly loved by his angel, very much as he’d always felt in moments like this shared between them - before it had all gone so horribly wrong. Crowley wanted so desperately to go back there, back before any of it had happened - and he allowed the wine and their romantic surroundings and the love in Aziraphale’s eyes to carry him… allowed wistful apprehension to fade into hope that perhaps his angel wasn’t entirely gone. 

Perhaps Crowley could have back what he’d believed to be lost. 

The play was utterly dreadful. 

The theatre was nearly empty, the few occupied seats taken by a smattering of reporters, most of whom sat there staring in dismay. The acting was exaggerated and stilted and performed by actors who only seemed to know a little more than half of their lines. 

“They… still have a few weeks,” Aziraphale remarked with doubtful optimism. 

They were in the back of the theatre, a minor miracle having shielded them from the notice of anyone else in the room - which left Aziraphale free to comment as he chose, and Crowley free to lounge about with his long legs draped over the seat in front of him, and both of them free to laugh as loudly as they pleased at all the bits that were unintentionally ridiculous, which was… more or less all the bits. 

“They’re going to need more than a few weeks,” Crowley pointed out, shaking his head. “It’s going to take…” 

“A miracle?” Aziraphale suggested, teasing. 

Crowley cast a glare in his direction, but he couldn’t quite suppress a smile. “Not a chance, angel. Not on this piece of dreck. I learned my lesson with Hamlet. Didn’t think it’d catch on like it did; can’t  _ escape _ the bloody thing, now.” 

“Still… it was a tremendously sweet favor,” Aziraphale pointed out, the words warm and hushed with remembrance as he slipped an arm around Crowley, leaning down to press a soft kiss against his shoulder.

“I’m doing the  _ world _ a sweet favor by not inflicting  _ this _ upon them,” Crowley retorted, rolling his eyes, acutely aware of the furious blush creeping up his neck to color his cheeks. He kept talking, desperate to distract from his own flustered reaction. “If I was still employed, it’d make a bloody excellent method of torture. Wonder which side this lot’ll end up on, in the end? They might get a cushy job on the right side of the rack in Hell, with skills like these...” 

Aziraphale just squeezed Crowley’s shoulder gently, settling in subtly closer - and Crowley allowed it. 

After the show, Aziraphale suggested a walk through the park. It was fully dark by then, a comfortably warm breeze surrounding them and rustling through the trees as they walked. The night sky glittered with stars - a suspiciously uncommon phenomenon in London, most likely helped along a bit by a rather significant miracle, Crowley concluded. 

He reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand, feeling a warm rush of appreciation for his angel, for all the effort he’d gone to, to give them a perfect evening. 

There was a dessert cart, just closing up for the evening, and a swift snap of Aziraphale’s fingers kept the vendor waiting just long enough for him to buy them each an ice cream. They sat on a bench to enjoy their treats. Crowley could barely taste his - could hardly focus on anything but the soft warmth of his angel at his side, and the way Aziraphale’s eyes shone in the soft glow of the street lamps. 

When the ice cream was gone, Crowley started to rise, but Aziraphale caught his hand and tugged him back down. 

“Please,” he said softly, looking up to meet Crowley’s gaze, earnest and beseeching. “Let’s not rush back.” 

Crowley hesitated a moment before relenting, settling back onto the bench - back into Aziraphale’s arm around him. 

“It’s been a lovely evening… hasn’t it?” There was a pleading, uncertain note to the question. 

“It has,” Crowley conceded, soft and careful. 

“I’ve missed this,” Aziraphale confessed, his gaze self-consciously lowered for a moment before meeting Crowley’s eyes again. “I’ve missed  _ you _ .” 

Crowley swallowed, holding his gaze. “I - me too,” he admitted at last, hoarse and aching. 

Aziraphale smiled, tears of relief shining in his eyes as he leaned in, slowly enough to give Crowley time to pull away, to avert his mouth if he wanted to. 

Crowley  _ didn’t _ want to. 

Surrender came easily, as he slipped his arms around Aziraphale to return his embrace, allowing his angel to kiss him breathless, senseless, on the park bench, and finally kissing him  _ back _ with all the fervent desperation of a man dying of thirst. It felt familiar, and comfortable, and safe. It felt like reassurance and relief in the midst of madness and fear. 

It felt like coming home. 

As they finally made their way back to the bookshop, clinging to each other, Crowley felt nearly intoxicated with relief. It had all been so lovely - such a beautiful night with his angel, who seemed to be at long last coming back to him. 

Aziraphale’s hand still fit perfectly in his, the familiar press of his body as they leaned into each other along the way home the only place Crowley wanted to end this evening, warm and close with his angel. 

It was all just  _ perfect _ . 

Until the moment when they walked through the door of the shop. 

Crowley’s stomach lurched uneasily as he realized all at once that they were not alone. He snapped his fingers, and the lights in the front of the shop came on all at once. 

The door to the backroom was standing open, and from within came a terrible, nearly  _ animal _ sound of keening, breathless agony. 

**************************************************************************************

The bookshop was dark and empty when Gabriel arrived, with twelve minutes to spare on the watch’s screen. He stood near the front counter for a few moments, taken aback. The watch was evidence that he could not possibly have gotten the time wrong. He was here exactly when Aziraphale had told him to be - and no one appeared to be home. 

This had never happened before. 

_ He’ll be here, _ Gabriel told himself, heading into the backroom.  _ And when he is… you want him to find you just as you’re supposed to be.  _

He undressed as usual, though there was a hollow, churning sensation in the pit of his stomach as he put his clothes on the desk and noticed uneasily that there were no implements laid out. The room was as dark as the shop. Turning to survey the shadowed emptiness near the open door, Gabriel swallowed uneasily and sank to his knees - just as the screen lit up with a bright red warning, the metal at his wrist beginning to warm. 

Ten minutes left. 

_ Aziraphale will be here before the time is up. He will.  _

_ It’s… some kind of a test. He thinks I’ll leave, or… or try something stupid because he’s not here, but… I won’t. I’ll wait, and I’ll be ready when he gets here, because… he will get here.  _

_ Surely he will... _

He didn’t. 

The pain struck the moment the countdown clock hit 0:00, swiftly intensifying with every minute that passed, until Gabriel couldn’t breathe, every nerve consumed with agony. The desperate, fragmented idea of going to look for Aziraphale, of finding him so that he could make it stop, fleetingly passed through Gabriel’s mind - but he didn’t know Earth like Aziraphale did, and he had no idea where to look for him. 

He knew of a couple of places he’d found Aziraphale in the past, but he couldn’t think clearly enough through the pain to remember where… couldn’t summon enough clarity and focus to miracle himself there, even if he could...

Couldn’t so much as rise from his knees, the endless, searing pulses of punishment continuously coursing through his body holding him in place. 

It was more than he could bear, but his celestial body had no choice but to bear it. He didn’t have the luxury of unconsciousness - only relentless, unspeakable torment. He had no idea how much time had passed when, through the pounding in his own head, he faintly heard the sound of the front door opening, and angry, purposeful steps striding through the backroom door. 

Aziraphale’s voice was too soft to match them, sounding bewildered and surprised. “It’s supposed to be  _ tomorrow _ night…” 

No. That wasn’t true.  _ Was it? _

_ You got it wrong. You always get it wrong. Stupid, useless… _

The sharp, angry footsteps swiftly closed the distance between the door and Gabriel, a swift hand reaching out toward him - and Gabriel flinched, his stomach lurching. 

Crowley grabbed his wrist, pulling it up, and Gabriel instinctively jerked away. 

And,  _ now _ , there was anger in  _ Aziraphale’s _ pace as well... in his voice, as he crossed the room and caught the wrist Gabriel had just pulled away, yanking it back up and shaking him, leaning in close to Gabriel’s face. 

“ _ No! _ ” 

His voice was low and lethal, slicing through Gabriel’s pain with laser precision and  _ focusing _ his panic around what he  _ knew _ . 

_ Pay attention. Obey.  _

_ Careful. You can always find a way to  _ make this worse.

“He’ll touch you if he wants to,” Aziraphale snarled, his free hand gripping Gabriel’s hair and jerking his head back. “You  _ do not _ resist him, do you understand me?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” Gabriel gasped out, hot tears streaking his face as he swallowed back a sob. “Please, I didn’t mean to…” 

_ Stupid. That’s why you’re being punished, you worthless idiot. Can’t ever just  _ get it right, _ can you? _

Gabriel’s gaze was drawn to the glint of light off the ring on Aziraphale’s hand - so maddeningly close to the watch on his wrist. In his mindless need for relief, he twisted his wrist in Aziraphale’s hand, desperately trying to close the distance between the two. If he could just bring the two into contact… if he could only… 

Aziraphale released him abruptly with a rough shove, a surprised laugh escaping his lips. It was a cruel and menacing sound that sent an icy shiver down Gabriel’s spine. Aziraphale’s voice was dangerously soft. 

“Oh,  _ no _ , Gabriel. Don’t you  _ dare _ .” 

_ Just great. Fucking idiot. Yeah, piss him off. That’ll help.  _

“I’m sorry…” Gabriel’s shaking hand encircled the wrist that bore the watch, holding it up, presenting it to Azirpahale like an offering. His entire body shook with agony as deep, wrenching sobs overcame him. “Help me,” he choked out. “ _ Please help me _ …”

“Two hours.” Crowley’s voice, low and furious. “Two  _ hours _ , angel! How did this  _ happen _ ?” 

Two hours. Gabriel realized through the haze of pain and confusion that that’s what Crowley had wanted when he’d grabbed him - to catch a glimpse of the countdown clock on his wrist, now two hours into negative numbers. 

It felt like so much longer. 

At the fury in Crowley’s voice, Gabriel braced himself for further punishment. 

It was his fault. Of course it was his fault. 

Except… 

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea,” Aziraphale sighed, though he didn’t sound terribly dismayed about it. “It was supposed to be tomorrow, it’s  _ always _ on Tuesdays. I must have accidentally set the time incorrectly last week.” 

That was...  _ wrong _ . 

Gabriel couldn’t focus enough to  _ think,  _ to remember exactly  _ how _ it was wrong, but something about Aziraphale’s words didn’t make sense. Something about last week… something he’d said right before Gabriel had left… 

_ “Six days…” _

_ “Crowley and I have plans… yes, six days from now, around this time, should do nicely…” _

Aziraphale’s hand firmly grasped Gabriel’s jaw, tilting his head up, and Gabriel obediently met his gaze - icy blue lit with cruel amusement, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth belying the solemn, taut set of his lips. 

“Quite unpleasant to be left waiting, isn’t it? Even  _ by accident _ .” 

In an instant, through the pain, Gabriel understood with perfect clarity. 

This was his punishment for being late the previous week. 

His  _ real  _ punishment - disguised as a mistake, but carefully planned and executed with deliberate precision. 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel repeated, lowering his eyes with a breathless sob as Aziraphale released him. “I won’t be late again, I’ll  _ never _ be late again, please… please make it stop. Please, please help me, sir…”

“ _ Angel _ .” There was a sharp, warning edge to Crowley’s trembling voice. 

Aziraphale sighed, lowering his head for a moment before reaching out to take hold of Gabriel’s wrist again,  _ finally _ pressing the stone of his ring to the watch’s face. Immediately the fiery agony subsided, fading away into nothing more than faint, dull aftershocks. Gabriel nearly collapsed with relief and exhaustion, his face falling toward the floor at Aziraphale’s feet, but Aziraphale crouched down and caught his arms in a firm, gentle grasp, holding him upright on his knees. 

“ _ Thank you _ ,” Gabriel whispered, breathless and trembling and utterly sincere. “Th-thank you…”

“There, now…” Aziraphale lifted one hand to brush gently through Gabriel’s damp, disheveled hair. “It’s over now, my dear, isn’t it? All over...” 

The hushed, soothing tone of his voice, combined with the soft, nearly hypnotic touch of his hand, mingled with Gabriel’s sheer relief, and an overwhelming wave of gratitude swept over him, fresh tears springing to his eyes. Some little part of his mind not completely shell-shocked from pain and trauma screamed its outrage at the very  _ idea _ \- but Gabriel was too exhausted to listen to it. In spite of himself, he found himself leaning into Aziraphale’s touch.

“Thank you,” he repeated, the words a soft sob, his tears flowing down his face, obscuring his vision. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” 

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale soothed him. “It’s all right now. Come now, get up…” 

He rose to his feet, strong, gentle hands gripping Gabriel’s arms and helping him to rise as well. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, who was standing there watching the scene play out, his jaw set, golden eyes smoldering with fury, before turning back toward Gabriel. 

“I suppose… it’s best we go ahead and get your penance over and done with for the week, yes? It was not my intention for you to be here today, but… after this ordeal, I don’t think you need to return tomorrow. We’ll get it all out of the way tonight. Doesn’t that sound best?” 

It did  _ not  _ sound best. It sounded like more than Gabriel could possibly bear. He glanced up at Aziraphale, blinking away his tears to see a soft, expectant smile on his lips, the barest trace of a cool warning in his eyes. 

Gabriel shivered, closing his eyes, abruptly, acutely aware of how easily Aziraphale’s gentle fingers in his hair could turn cruel and grasping - or worse. He nodded, swallowing with some difficulty, his throat dry and aching, his heart racing. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. 

“ _ Really _ ?” Crowley’s voice was quiet, but with a sharp edge. “Aziraphale…”

“ _ Yes _ .” Aziraphale turned his gaze on Crowley with an intensity that spoke volumes. “ _ Really _ .” 

Crowley glared at Aziraphale, visibly aghast. “Don’t you think it’s  _ enough _ …?” 

“Enough what? Punishment?” Aziraphale nodded, gently running his fingers through Gabriel’s hair again as he turned his gaze back toward him, softer and speculative. “Quite certainly. No, I’ve no intention of inflicting further suffering tonight. We’ll just have a talk, that’s all. About… punctuality, and… remembering one’s obligations.” 

Crowley said nothing, but he shook his head slowly, and a soft little huff of disbelieving, unhappy laughter escaped his lips. Gabriel carefully cast his eyes down to the floor, afraid that Aziraphale might see in his gaze at that moment just how strongly he agreed with Crowley’s sentiments on the matter. For the moment, Aziraphale seemed calm enough; Gabriel couldn’t afford to let a trace of the outrage or resentment he felt to awaken the principality’s fury. 

He was already certain that despite his promises, Aziraphale would be doing more than just talking. 

Gabriel kept still and quiet for a long, tense moment while Aziraphale’s hand lingered in his hair, and some sort of silent communication seemed to take place between Aziraphale and Crowley, out of Gabriel’s line of vision… until at last Aziraphale withdrew his hand and rose to his feet again. 

“Well, just let me put this away.” He took a small sheet of thick, stiff paper from inside his jacket, showing it to Crowley. He turned back to meet Gabriel’s eyes, a stern note in his voice. “ _ Wait here _ . I won’t be a minute.” 

And a moment later, Gabriel and Crowley were alone in the backroom. 

Gabriel frowned, confused, shaking his head a little. “Is that… paper, important?” 

“It’s a playbill,” Crowley replied, sounded distracted and morose, waving a dismissive hand. “We saw a show.” 

None of that made any sense to Gabriel, and he wasn’t sure it would have made any more sense if his head  _ wasn’t _ still a throbbing, weary mess of singed nerves and tangled thoughts. He glanced up, meeting Crowley’s eyes for just a moment - and despite his confusion, it was clear. 

Crowley was  _ very _ unhappy with what had just happened here. 

And… Aziraphale  _ cared _ if Crowley was unhappy. 

Perhaps if he’d been a little less exhausted… a little more in control… Gabriel would have more carefully weighed his words. As it was, they spilled from his lips with an edge of quiet desperation. 

“This wasn’t a mistake. An accident. You know that, right?” 

Crowley shook his head. “We all know the regular day is Tuesday.” 

“Yeah, but he told me six days this time. He told me… you had plans.” 

Crowley frowned, eyes narrowed. “We  _ didn’t _ have plans. Not until today.” 

Gabriel sighed, lowering his head, his words coming out quiet, heavy and grim. “He did.  _ This _ was his plan. How he  _ wanted  _ it to go. To - to teach me a lesson, for being late.” 

“No,” Crowley objected sharply. “He said it was an accident - it  _ was _ an accident.” 

Gabriel glanced uneasily toward the backroom door. Aziraphale would be back any minute, and the thought of more pain, more suffering in the wake of what he’d just endured was absolutely intolerable. Desperately he tried another tactic, looking up to meet Crowley’s gaze. 

“I know you don’t want me here,” he said with quiet, pleading urgency. “And I don’t want to  _ be _ here. Why don’t you just  _ tell him  _ you won’t have it? He loves you. That’s obvious. So that means… he wants you to be happy. Doesn’t he?” 

Crowley remained unsettlingly silent, his gaze troubled and uncertain. 

Gabriel hesitated. “If… if you’re afraid he’ll be angry with you…” 

“I’m not afraid of Aziraphale,” Crowley snapped, a flash of defensive anger in his eyes. 

Hurriedly Gabriel backtracked, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “No, no, that’s not what I - I just mean… wouldn’t it be  _ better _ for the two of you? If I was just  _ gone _ ?” 

Crowley glared at him dubiously. “Yeah. Probably,” he agreed with a pointed edge that sent a little shiver down Gabriel’s spine. 

“You don’t have to - I’ll stay away,” he hurriedly promised. “Completely, I swear it, and I’d be there in Heaven to make sure they leave you alone! I’m not going to come after the two of you or anything. I don’t care about - payback, or whatever.” Gabriel let out a weary, shaky sigh, staring down at the floor, his hands held open, pleading, in front of him. “I - I just want it to  _ stop _ .”

Crowley was quiet for a long moment before at last he spoke, his words slow and measured, and dripping with suspicion. “Interesting that you should bring up  _ payback _ . Don’t recall expressing any  _ concern _ about that. But now that you mention it… how can we know that? We’re just supposed to trust you? Yeah. Because you’ve never done anything… shady, or underhanded…”

Gabriel couldn’t quite stifle the sharp, bitter laugh that rose to his lips, even as he looked up to meet Crowley’s gaze, blinking back tears. “What am I gonna do to you?” he demanded, quiet and defeated. “To either of you? I can’t hurt you… can’t fight you. I have  _ no power _ against you…”

“That’s right,” Crowley cut him off quietly. “You don’t. You can’t fight us.” He paused a moment, before continuing, knowing, softly accusing. “So you  _ manipulate _ . Try to come between us. Turn me against him. Satan knows what you say about  _ me _ in your sessions. Divide and conquer, all that. There’s a reason why it’s a thing.” 

“I don’t say anything about you,” Gabriel informed Crowley, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “He doesn’t allow me to speak, except to confess my sins.” 

Crowley was quiet, and Gabriel glanced up at him, slightly encouraged by the uncertainty in the demon’s expressive golden eyes. 

“I swear I don’t want to split you up, or - or hurt you in any way. I want nothing more than to just… leave the two of you to each other for the rest of eternity,” Gabriel insisted, pleading and urgent. “I just want him to  _ let me go _ …” He was quiet for a moment, holding Crowley’s gaze. “And… I know you want that, too. It’s… best for both of us.” 

Crowley’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Meaning?” There was a quiet, warning edge to his voice. 

Gabriel’s mouth went dry. His pulse raced, his recovering brain screaming at him to  _ shut up _ . But he didn’t. He was desperate, desperate to get through to Crowley, to somehow convince the  _ one creature _ he knew had the influence to help him, to do  _ something _ to make this suffering  _ stop _ . 

If Crowley knew exactly what Aziraphale had done to him… the lines he’d crossed, against Crowley’s wishes… surely he’d  _ insist  _ that this be over and done, once and for all. 

Or he’d simply  _ walk away  _ from Aziraphale, leaving Gabriel to face Aziraphale’s  _ rage  _ at Crowley’s loss. 

No. Gabriel couldn’t say anything about that, couldn’t let Crowley know what Aziraphale had already done. But… the  _ suggestion _ could help convince him, couldn’t it? The fear that it  _ might  _ happen, if Crowley didn’t do something to prevent it? Gabriel drew in an unsteady breath, his weary mind searching for the right words, choosing them carefully.

“I’m… afraid of what he’ll do next.”

Crowley didn’t speak, a single brow raised in silent question. 

“It’s just… I know you don’t want Aziraphale…  _ doing _ anything. Physical. With me. And I don’t want that either, believe me! But… after what we’ve  _ already _ done - and that was  _ my fault _ , I know, I offered!” Gabriel admitted desperately, his words rushed and trembling in response to the dangerous light in the demon’s eyes, the angry set of his lips and the way his hand flexed into a fist at his side. “I’m sorry, if I could take it back, I would,  _ God _ knows I would, but… he’s always…  _ touching _ me, and I’m afraid he’s going to… want to go  _ farther _ , and… and  _ eventually _ , he’s going to be tempted to…” 

His words broke off abruptly as Crowley swiftly closed the distance between them, grasping Gabriel’s throat and shoving him back against the wall behind him to snarl in his face, low and furious.

“Oh, is he? He’s going to be tempted? Are you  _ threatening _ me, archangel?” 

Gabriel’s heart plummeted. “No, no,” he insisted, pleading, his hands raised as much as he could between them in a carefully placating gesture. “That’s not what I meant…  _ please _ ...”

Crowley released him abruptly with a shove, taking a couple of steps back, shaking his head - visibly restraining himself. He let out a harsh, contemptuous laugh. 

“You’re going to tempt Aziraphale away from me, is that it?” 

He gave Gabriel a slow, pointed up and down look that made the archangel’s face flush with shame, and he instinctively lowered his hands to cover his exposed flesh. Crowley noticed the gesture, and a trace of what might have been guilt or uncertainty warred with vindictive satisfaction on his face as he sneered. 

“You can  _ try _ . Trust me, you’ve got  _ nothing  _ he wants. Nothing  _ I _ want, either.” 

Gabriel flinched a little, caught off guard at the accusation. “No, I - I wasn’t…”

“I know it when I see it,” Crowley insisted, pointing an accusing finger in Gabriel’s direction. “You are trying to tempt me. Awkwardly.  _ Badly _ , like the fucking  _ amateur _ you are…”

“No, no,  _ please _ …” Gabriel shook his head, his heart racing with panic. 

“Can’t talk your way out with him, so you figured you’d try going through me, yeah?” Crowley cut him off sharply, then moved in close again with a swift, furious stride, leaning into Gabriel’s face. His words were a low, menacing hiss. “ _ Bad idea _ .” 

His fists were clenched, his body fairly vibrating with fury, as he visibly restrained himself from actually laying hands on Gabriel again - and Gabriel trembled with terrified anticipation, shaking his head in a silent, desperate plea as Crowley continued, his voice low and intent. 

“Aziraphale and I - we’re on the  _ same side. Our _ side. And  _ you _ are  _ certainly _ not going to come between us.” 

Gabriel held his hands up, barely brushing against the soft black fabric of Crowley’s shirt, nodding hurriedly in acceptance. “I know… I know, I wouldn’t try,” he insisted. “Please, I’m not…”

“I  _ see _ you,” Crowley hissed, holding Gabriel’s fearful gaze with contempt. “Your deception. Your  _ manipulations _ . And you had better  _ cut that shit out _ , right the  _ fuck _ now!” 

Gabriel nodded desperately, panic choking him. 

He’d made a terrible miscalculation. He’d misinterpreted Crowley’s reactions, seen sympathy where there was only jealousy. He’d taken it too far, tried too hard. 

He’d fucked up - and now, he was in for it. Aziraphale was going to come back, and Crowley was going to tell him everything, and  _ everything _ Gabriel had suffered to this point was going to be nothing more than a wistful memory in light of what Aziraphale would do to him now. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out through his panic as he sank back down to his knees. There was barely room to do so with Crowley standing so close to him, but he managed it, awkwardly, urgently trying to show Crowley his submission, his regret. “I wasn’t… I swear I wasn’t trying to…” 

Crowley’s hand was mere inches in front of Gabriel’s face - clenched into a furious fist. Gabriel took it anyway, cautious and reverent, clutched in his own two hands, and pressed his forehead to it, relieved when Crowley at least did not jerk it away - or draw it back to strike him. 

Aziraphale’s footsteps began to descend the stairs, and Gabriel’s stomach lurched with panic. 

“Please,” he whispered, desperate. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it, please, he’s gonna hurt me,  _ please don’t tell him _ …”

Crowley said nothing as the footsteps continued to approach, though his fist remained clenched, and trembling slightly in Gabriel’s cautious grasp. The footsteps stopped, and though his head was bowed, his eyes tightly shut, Gabriel knew that Aziraphale had stopped in the doorway to the backroom, quiet for a moment as he took in the scene before him before speaking, deceptively mild. 

“It seems I’ve missed something.” 

“Not much,” Crowley replied, his tone level and quiet. “He was just apologizing.” He paused no more than a moment, but it was a moment that for Gabriel seemed to freeze, his fate hanging on whatever Crowley would say next. “For spoiling our evening.” 

Aziraphale said nothing, but at the slow, measured sound of his advance, Gabriel shivered with apprehension. A moment later, the soft touch of Aziraphale’s hand at the back of his neck, fingers trailing through his hair. 

“Very good,” he said softly. 

Crowley withdrew his hand from Gabriel’s grasp, moving away, and Aziraphale moved to stand facing him, reaching down to tilt his head up. His expression was solemn and speculative, as he studied Gabriel’s expression, and the archangel desperately hoped that his guilty panic didn’t show in his eyes. 

“I’ve reconsidered,” Aziraphale stated at last. “Two hours is certainly long enough for you to…  _ reflect _ , on your failings. This… accidental punishment is more than enough penance for now. We’ll have no more until next week.” 

He gestured toward the watch, and Gabriel lifted it between them, halting and uncertain. Aziraphale caught his wrist firmly and touched the ring to the screen before letting him go. Gabriel looked down at the screen, relieved when he saw the time there. 

Eight days until he’d have to return again. 

“Back on track, yes?” Aziraphale smiled. “No harm done. You may dress and go.” 

_ No harm done? _

Gabriel didn’t quite agree with that assessment of the situation. His extremities still tingled with the lingering after-effects of the watch’s brutal punishment, making his movements slow and clumsy as he put his clothes back on. His mind still felt a little muddled, a little fuzzy, and his entire body ached with exhaustion. 

_ Your own fault. If you hadn’t been late, it wouldn’t have happened. Brought it on yourself.  _

_ Do better next time.  _

Gabriel glanced uneasily between Crowley and Aziraphale, all at once intensely aware of the tension that lingered between them, and reluctant to leave the two of them alone - the thought of what they might discuss in his absence striking him through with cold, creeping terror. 

But Aziraphale was staring at him now, a single brow lifted in silent question. 

He’d been given an order. He had to obey. 

Gabriel left the bookshop, and left them to whatever conversation they might have once he’d left - desperately hoping that Crowley would take mercy on him, and keep his grievously presumptuous misstep to himself. 

***********************************************************************************

“It really was just an accident, darling,” Aziraphale insisted once Gabriel had left. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I truly believed I’d set it for tomorrow night, as usual.” 

Crowley studied his face, unsure. 

Aziraphale certainly  _ seemed _ apologetic enough - and he’d seemed as caught off guard as Crowley by the whole thing, when they’d walked into the shop to find Gabriel there. The entire evening, they’d enjoyed each other’s company with no mention of Gabriel, not even a thought - or so Crowley had believed. There hadn’t been the slightest indication, the entire evening, that Aziraphale was anticipating Gabriel’s presence - or his suffering - when they arrived home. 

He was either telling the truth - or he was a disturbingly excellent liar. 

“Oh, please, darling,” Aziraphale implored him, moving in closer and taking one of Crowley’s hands in both of his. “Surely you believe me?” 

Crowley wanted to. He  _ really _ did, because the alternative - that Aziraphale had taken him out for a lovely, romantic evening, had spent hours doting on Crowley and lavishing attention and affection on him, all the while _ aware _ that Gabriel was kneeling naked and in agony in the backroom, helplessly suffering and waiting for their return - simply  _ did not _ bear thinking about. 

_ Gabriel said he told him six days, last week. Told him we had plans. But… he only just suggested it to me this afternoon…  _

“I didn’t know he was here, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “ _ Please _ , my love, you  _ know _ me better than that!” Aziraphale shifted in closer, gently tugging at Crowley’s hand until he reluctantly moved closer to Aziraphale as well, eyes downcast as he struggled with his doubts. “I’ve kept things from you. I’ve betrayed your trust, I know. But I’ve never outright  _ lied _ to you, Crowley, you  _ must _ know that. Please. Please  _ trust me _ .” 

Crowley was trying. 

_ Gabriel - he’s always been a bit shady, hasn’t he? And he  _ wants out. _ He’d say  _ anything _ to convince you to help him make that happen.  _

Crowley looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes - shining and earnest and urgent. 

_ It’s Gabriel. Not Aziraphale. Not your sweet angel you’ve loved for 6000 years.  _

_ Gabriel’s the liar.  _

“I - I believe you,” Crowley  _ decided _ \- and Aziraphale’s shoulders fell, his breath leaving him in a tremulous rush of relief. When he moved in close to put his arms around Crowley, Crowley let him, tentatively raising his own arm to wrap around his angel as well. 

If he was trying to trust Aziraphale, then he had to  _ trust _ him, didn’t he? Had to accept that he was telling the truth, unless it was proven otherwise. 

Things were going well - getting  _ better _ . 

The last thing Crowley wanted was to fuck that all up - not when there were other ways he could go about solving the problem presented by Aziraphale’s… mistake.

“I’m so sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to spoil our evening,” Aziraphale sighed, fretful and apologetic. 

“I know,” Crowley conceded softly. He drew back a little, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes, hesitant and uncertain. “I just… don’t know why you didn’t fix it right away, as soon as we got here. Touch the watch. Make it stop, since you… didn’t mean for it to happen at all.” 

“I might have,” Aziraphale replied, a little defensive. “If Gabriel hadn’t tried to take it into his own hands. I can’t allow him to think I’ll tolerate that kind of behavior, darling.” He looked up at Crowley, his gaze solemn and earnest. “To think that he can get away with attempting to  _ overpower _ me… that’s a dangerous thing to allow.” 

Crowley thought back on the recent image seared into his mind - Gabriel, kneeling and naked, his face streaked with tears, eyes wide and panicked,  _ literally _ pleading for mercy. Even in his agony, he’d offered no more resistance than simply attempting to turn his wrist in Aziraphale’s grasp, just a little - desperate just to  _ make the pain stop _ . 

He couldn’t fathom how Aziraphale could in any way see that as  _ trying to overpower him _ . 

But… he certainly could have, if he’d tried. 

He’d almost tried once before - in a moment when he’d been far less panicked, in much less pain, than he’d been tonight. 

“What’s  _ dangerous _ is driving him to the point where he could lose control. Lash out. Once that happens, it’s over.” 

Aziraphale scoffed softly. “He wouldn’t dare. He’s too much afraid of me.” 

Crowley’s stomach clenched uncomfortably as his thoughts turned to minutes earlier, when he himself had effortlessly backed a powerful archangel into a corner with nothing more than snarled threats and physical intimidation - an archangel who could have easily obliterated Crowley with a  _ thought _ , if only he’d known it. 

He felt a little sick at how he’d used Aziraphale’s conditioning against Gabriel, without really meaning to. He’d simply… lost control, for a moment. 

_ Scary. How easy it is - losing control.  _

“If he’s hurting too much to  _ remember  _ how afraid of you he is… it’ll be too late,” Crowley insisted, with grim resolve. 

Aziraphale sighed, nodding in reluctant concession. “Yes, I know, love, I’ll be more careful…”

“I’ve got an idea. To keep it from happening again.”

Aziraphale blinked, a bit taken aback. “Oh?” 

Crowley nodded once, holding his gaze, watching his responses closely. “Let me see your ring for a bit, angel. Something I’d like to… adjust.” 

Aziraphale drew back a little, cradling the hand that bore the ring in his other hand and gazing down at it, biting his lip. At last he nodded, looking up at Crowley as he slid it off his finger and placed it in Crowley’s outstretched palm. 

Crowley spent some time tinkering with the ring, considering and attempting various adjustments, until he decided on a course of action that would leave Aziraphale without excuse for any future “accidents”. 

He brought it back to Aziraphale a couple of hours later, slipping up behind him where he sat quietly reading in his chair, wrapping his arms around his angel’s shoulders and holding out the ring in his hand. 

Aziraphale reached up to take it and slip it back on, smiling over his shoulder at Crowley, a silent, expectant question in his eyes. 

“Gave it a new feature,” Crowley explained, moving around to lean on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, nodding toward the ring. “Now, if you want to check how much time is left before your weekly appointment… just touch the ring and think about it. Ring doesn’t have a screen like the watch does, but…” 

Crowley’s voice trailed off as Aziraphale obeyed his instructions, closing his eyes - then smiled with delighted understanding. “I can see the countdown clock in my mind. Right to the second.” 

Crowley nodded once. “So anytime there’s any doubt… you can double check.” 

“Oh, thank you, darling.” Aziraphale’s gratitude was profuse as he reached up to take Crowley’s hand. “It will be so very helpful to be able to check it. Very helpful indeed.” He was quiet for a moment. “I - do hope I remember to do so. You know how I tend to become distracted, and things just… slip my mind.” 

Crowley frowned, irritated and troubled by the words. 

How could it simply  _ slip his mind _ that another person might be literally  _ tortured _ by his neglect? 

Crowley kept his tone level, though he couldn’t keep a slight edge from his words. 

“Then I’ll remind you, angel.” 

Aziraphale frowned, letting out a sigh and squaring his shoulders with resolve. “No, I don’t want you to have to worry about it, darling. I’ll simply have to do better at keeping track of things. Somehow. Your adjustment will absolutely assist me in doing so.” 

Unsettled by Aziraphale’s response, which sounded very much like a set of subtle excuses to justify an inevitable “next time”, Crowley sighed and held out his hand, palm up. Aziraphale looked up at him with confusion, and Crowley gestured impatiently with his fingers. 

“Give it.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “I’ll be careful…”

“Give it here, angel, I’ll fix it,” Crowley insisted. 

When he returned it to Aziraphale the second time, dawn was breaking through the windows of the apartment over the bookshop, and the angel was making tea in the kitchen, dressed in his pajamas. When Crowley held the ring out to him this time, Aziraphale took it, but didn’t put it on just yet, looking up at Crowley expectantly. 

“Now the stone will glow, when the countdown reaches five minutes,” he explained. “You won’t be able to miss it. And if you see that the stone is glowing, and you know you can’t get back to the bookshop in time, I’ve also fixed it so that you can reset the clock remotely, in your head. Set the deadline forward, prevent the punishment before it happens, and you don’t have to actually touch the watch to do it.” 

Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully, a slight frown creasing his brow. “What if I forget, and I’m out… and he actually  _ is _ late?” he mused. “How would I know?” 

“If you’re not home yourself when he’s supposed to be here, then he gets a pass,” Crowley declared. “Ring lights up, you reset it. Period. Assume he’s on time.” He was quiet for a moment, before pointing out grimly, “After last night… I’m sure he will be.” 

Aziraphale glanced up at him, the dubious expression in his eyes making clear his displeasure at the idea of letting any potential wrongdoing on Gabriel’s part slide. 

Crowley held his ground, arms crossed over his chest. “Only fair,” he stated firmly. 

“Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale sighed, relenting at last and putting on the ring. “I’ll just have to do better at keeping track of things. And these adjustments you’ve made will help me avoid any further unfortunate accidents.” He looked up at Crowley with a warm smile, eyes lit with gratitude. “This is going to be incredibly useful, my love. Thank you so much.”

He took Crowley’s hand, drawing him in, and Crowley went to him, feeling a tremendous sense of relief. There could be no excuse now, no reason for such a thing to happen to Gabriel again - and Aziraphale at least  _ seemed _ pleased. Little by little, pieces of the old Aziraphale appeared to be returning - and Crowley would do whatever it took to carefully collect them and piece them back together. 

When Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him, Crowley hesitated only the barest instant, before leaning in as well, and kissing him back. 


	13. Chapter 13

Eight days was not a long time - not to a celestial being who’d existed for countless millennia. Eight days was like a flash of lightning, an instant in a mortal lifetime. 

And yet, somehow, to Gabriel, it felt like a blessedly long time. 

Eight days without having to make his excuses in Heaven and make his way down to Earth. Eight days without having to carefully weigh every single word for fear of how it might result in vicious, vindictive rage and agonizing consequences. 

Eight blessed, merciful  _ Aziraphale-free _ days. 

Or rather… they should have been. 

Gabriel found that he couldn’t stop checking the watch, even when he knew only a few brief minutes had passed. He couldn’t stop wondering about what would happen at the bookshop during the next appointed time. Had Crowley told Aziraphale about their conversation? Was Aziraphale  _ right now _ making plans for some new and horrible punishment for Gabriel’s  _ daring _ to ask the demon for help? 

As the minutes crawled by, Gabriel found that his own mind was more than capable of rivaling Aziraphale’s sadistic imagination. It was frustrating - being free of Aziraphale’s cruelty, and yet still unable to escape it in his thoughts. 

The problem was that there wasn’t much to distract him. 

To Gabriel’s relief, his warning words seemed to have been effective; the other archangels hadn’t said anything more about going after Aziraphale and Crowley again. But then, it wasn’t as if they were saying much of anything to him lately. They’d more or less kept their distance since the meeting. 

That was just fine. 

It was getting more and more difficult to disguise what he was going through. His defenses had been systematically stripped from him, and he  _ always _ felt a little on edge, a little anxious. He found himself second-guessing every word, every decision - wondering after every interaction whether or not he’d done it  _ right _ . 

Was he too dismissive, allowing his state of distraction to make him terse and impatient with the angels who occasionally came to report to him? Mistreating those under his authority, as Aziraphale had accused him of doing? If he was, Aziraphale was certain to  _ know _ , somehow. All of Gabriel’s failings seemed to be known to him. 

So, he tried to be exceedingly patient and understanding, only to receive strange looks of surprise or uncertainty from his subordinates, which left him wondering - was that  _ too _ humble? Too much  _ unlike _ what Heaven was used to seeing from him? Was it going to arouse suspicions, to get angels talking about him, wondering about what was going on with him? 

That was the last thing he needed. 

It was just…  _ easier _ when Gabriel was alone. 

And he found himself alone quite often these days. 

Aside from the angels under his management who would come in to offer a report now and then, Michael would stop by once in a while with a memo or a file for him to look over. But mostly, Gabriel’s mind was left free, with little distraction from his worries. 

Or from the watch on his wrist. 

He knew he was checking it far too often when he glanced at it to find that it hadn’t changed at all since the last time; he’d checked it twice in a single minute. It still read  **_02:00:20_ ** . He still had two days of freedom remaining. 

And then all at once - he didn’t. 

As Gabriel looked at the watch, it changed abruptly. 

**_00:00:20._ **

He blinked, staring at it in stunned dismay. 

_ No, that can’t be right. It has to be… some kind of glitch, or something… _

He tapped the screen a couple of times, which of course made no difference at all. A sick, anxious trembling in the pit of his stomach, a tight feeling he’d come to associate with the panic building in his chest, Gabriel rose from his seat behind his desk, instinctively tugging at the watch, though he already knew it would not come off. 

_ Maybe I… lost track of time? Could that much time have passed already? No, I’ve been staring at this thing every two minutes for days, it’s not possible…  _

As Gabriel watched, the numbers changed again. 

**_00:00:19._ **

It didn’t matter. 

All that mattered was getting to the bookshop. 

When he arrived, Gabriel was relieved to see the warm glow of light around the edges of the drawn blinds. The door was not locked, and Gabriel burst into the shop to find Aziraphale standing near a shelf across the room, rearranging books. 

He turned to face Gabriel with an expression of mild surprise, a single eyebrow raised, but said nothing. 

It was in that moment that Gabriel remembered with alarm - Aziraphale was incredibly dangerous, with or without the watch - more than capable of inflicting tremendous pain with little more than a thought, if he felt that Gabriel was being demanding or presumptuous, or even just  _ rude _ . Gabriel checked himself, taking a breath, and then approached Aziraphale at a cautious, hesitant pace, trembling fingers grasping his own wrist just above the watch as he stopped at a respectful distance, and sank to his knees at Aziraphale’s feet. 

The screen read  **_00:00:07_ ** . 

He  _ could not _ afford to make Aziraphale angry right now. 

Gabriel took a breath, trying with little success to calm himself. He lowered his gaze respectfully and held his wrist up, presenting it to Aziraphale as he tried to explain. 

“I - I don’t know what happened,” he stammered, apologetic and a little breathless. “I’m sorry, I thought I had more time, but - it says there’s just a few minutes left. It just -  _ changed _ , all at once, and I - I don’t know how or why, but… did I lose track of the time? Is it Tuesday already? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be late, I’m  _ not _ late, am I? Maybe it’s… broken, or malfunctioning? I don’t understand…” 

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Gabriel, stop babbling,” Aziraphale cut him off with a weary sigh, rolling his eyes. “You’re here, it’s all right. And it’s functioning perfectly.” He smiled down at Gabriel, a light of anticipation in his eyes that made Gabriel shiver. “It worked. I’m quite pleased.” 

Gabriel stared up at Aziraphale as he approached, shaking his head in confusion. “What… what worked?” 

Aziraphale’s smile faded a little with irritation, and Gabriel bit his lip, wincing. 

“ _ I  _ reset the time, remotely,” Aziraphale explained. “To let you know your presence was required at once - and here you are.”

Gabriel blinked, stunned. He hadn’t realized that Aziraphale could do that. He glanced around the room, suddenly aware that the two of them were alone. He swallowed slowly, looking back up at Aziraphale, an icy trickle of fear sliding down his spine as he asked in a hoarse whisper. 

“Where - where’s Crowley?”

Aziraphale glared at him, his tone tight and controlled. “He’s not here to intervene on your behalf this time, I’m afraid. It’s Saturday, so he’s off at his…”

“Book club,” Gabriel remembered. 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “Which is really none of your concern, is it? Crowley’s whereabouts. Crowley, in  _ general _ .” 

Gabriel swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his pulse racing. “No, I know, I didn’t…”

The gentle press of Aziraphale’s index finger to Gabriel’s lips silenced his half-formed protest. 

“As frustratingly full of useless excuses and demanding questions as ever, I’m so very  _ tired _ of your endless  _ babble _ , Gabriel. You  _ will _ be quiet and listen, won’t you?” 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly, his heart hammering in his chest, and swallowed back any further verbal response. 

“Very good.” Aziraphale nodded with an approving smile, his hand cupping Gabriel’s chin and tilting his head up to face him. There was a cruel satisfaction in his eyes, an unsettling softness in his words. “Because I was very much hoping to have the opportunity to speak to you  _ alone _ .” 

**********************************************************************************

“It sounds like an absolute nightmare.” Anathema gave Crowley a dubious look as she took a generous sip from her wine glass. “I mean - was it really that terrible?” 

“Truly dreadful,” Crowley confirmed. “Pure torture - and I would know!” 

Anathema grimaced, shaking her head a little. “Why did you stay?” 

“Well, it was at least  _ funny _ ,” Crowley admitted. “One of the actors nearly fell off the stage at one point.” 

Anathema laughed. 

“It was a bit like a train wreck,” Crowley smirked, taking a drink from his own glass. “Hard to look away. No one could see us there, so we just sat back and contributed all the color commentary we liked. The unintentional comedy of it all was far more amusing than the source material. Forgotten lines. Fumbling of props and so on. It was fun trying to predict what would go wrong next.” 

“Yeah, I guess I could see where that would be amusing,” Anathema conceded, leaning forward to retrieve the nearly empty bottle from her coffee table and topping off her own glass, then Crowley’s as well when he held it out toward her. 

“The theatre critics in the room weren’t amused,” he pointed out. “One sitting right in front of us sat there mouth all agape through the whole second act. Didn’t seem quite able to find the words.” He paused, shrugging a little with a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So, I just sort of… leaned over his shoulder and…  _ suggested _ one.” He shook his head as he sipped his wine, then let out a sigh. “It was abysmal.” 

Anathema grinned. “The word, or the play?” 

Crowley gave her a sly, sideways smile. “Both.” 

Anathema chuckled, shaking her head. “Fair enough. That play sucks, anyway.” 

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. “Never been one of my favorites. But it was the only thing remotely resembling theatre available at the moment, and Aziraphale knows I enjoy the theatre. We both do, it’s… kind of a thing.” He waved a dismissive hand, a bit self-consciously. “Anyway. It’s the thought that counts.” 

Anathema was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but touched with a sharp edge. “Yeah, well. Actions also count.” 

“The actions were fairly sweet, too,” Crowley reminded her, unable to keep a faintly defensive note from his words. “He went to a lot of effort to make it a lovely evening. Dinner at my favorite place... a beautiful starlit walk through the park… starlight courtesy of Aziraphale, I might add. You don’t see stars like that in London without more than a minor miracle. It was… very nearly perfect. He made sure of it.” 

He took a rather large drink, closing his eyes and trying to shut out the memories of the end of the evening. He hadn’t mentioned any of that to Anathema, and he had no intention of doing so. 

“Yeah,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “He’s clearly very, very good at sucking up.” 

Crowley swallowed, staring at his glass, a heavy stone settling in the pit of his stomach. “ _ Don’t _ ,” he advised softly. 

An uneasy silence fell over them for a few moments, and Anathema broke it with a grudging sigh. “So. How  _ is _ Ass-Fail these days?” 

Crowley shot her an annoyed, reproachful look. 

Anathema just shrugged, holding his gaze, unapologetic. “I call them like I see them, and what I see is an asshole who committed the  _ ultimate _ fail of  _ cheating on you _ .” 

“He’s  _ trying _ ,” Crowley insisted. “He’s really done much better lately. Working hard to be… more open, and… and respectful of my wishes. Keeping himself… accountable, and all…” 

“Accountable?” Anathema echoed, dubious. “ _ How _ , exactly?” 

Crowley wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that question, without filling her in on a whole host of details about the situation that he’d very carefully left out thus far. He could try to explain to her about the history between Aziraphale and Gabriel - the many thousands of years of abuse at Heaven’s hands for which Gabriel was now the unfortunate recipient of payback - but he knew without question that there was no way she’d  _ ever _ understand or accept it. 

He’d already told her a month ago that Aziraphale had cut things off with the guy he’d been “seeing” behind Crowley’s back. 

Anathema had been - quite naturally, for her -  _ doubtful _ . 

“How do you  _ know _ ?” she’d asked. “How can you be  _ sure _ ?” 

Yet another set of details which Crowley was unable to explain, questions he was unable to answer - especially as Aziraphale hadn’t actually stopped “seeing” Gabriel  _ at all _ . With precisely chosen words, and translation of events into ordinary, human terms he felt she could understand and relate to, Crowley had managed to make her think that this whole thing was nothing more than a case of infidelity, and Aziraphale a formerly cheating, now repentant partner. 

Now, she was questioning him again, with troubled concern in her dark, solemn gaze. Crowley weighed his words carefully as he formulated his answer. 

“He knows I can check up on him at any time,” he pointed out. “Just… pop up at home and see what he’s up to when I’m away.” 

Anathema nodded slowly, taking that in. “But… you could  _ always _ have done that. That’s… actually how you caught him. Right?” 

“Right,” Crowley conceded with a little grimace. 

“And… since then,” she persisted, her words measured and cautious. “Have you actually…  _ done _ that? Shown up unexpectedly to check up on him?” 

Crowley frowned, an uneasy feeling quivering in the pit of his stomach. “I’m trying to show him I trust him.” 

“But… you  _ don’t _ , do you?” she asked, worried, disbelieving. “I mean… surely you don’t. Not  _ yet _ … right?” 

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze, eyes focused on his glass as he replied, quietly stubborn, “I do.” 

Anathema stared at him for a long moment. “Bullshit,” she declared at last. 

“I  _ do _ !” Crowley insisted. “He’s promised not to ever be unfaithful to me again - and I’ve made the decision to believe him. To trust him.” 

“To blindly forgive him,” Anathema translated flatly. “To put  _ yourself _ and your heart at risk, so  _ he _ can stop feeling so much like shit.” 

“He still feels like shit, believe me,” Crowley replied.

But he realized even as he said it that he wasn’t quite sure it was true. Aziraphale seemed… quite content in general, lately, with the way things seemed to be going. 

“He should,” Anathema declared darkly. “Crowley… I just feel like he should be putting in more of the work, here, to fix things. It seems like you’re the one making all the concessions, so  _ he _ can be comfortable, when  _ you’re _ the one who got fucked over.” 

“Well, that’s just because you couldn’t possibly understand,” Crowley countered stiffly, downing the rest of his glass before continuing, pointedly ignoring the vaguely offended lift of her eyebrow as she watched and waited for him to go on. “We’ve been together for 6000 years, in some form or another, and there’s… there’s just… parts of this whole situation that are… completely beyond your understanding.” 

“Beyond my understanding,” Anathema echoed, nodding slowly, though her eyes blazed with indignation. “Because I’m… just a human. Right?” 

Crowley hesitated. He didn’t exactly  _ want _ to offend her… but the card was already out there, lying on the table... and it was the only one he had left. He sighed.

“That’s… more or less the size of it.” 

“Well. I guess you don’t need  _ my _ advice, then, do you?” she retorted stiffly, pouring herself another glass and pointedly eyeing the empty bottle. “Sure making short work of my  _ wine _ , though. Certainly don’t need my  _ opinion _ to go with it.” 

“Don’t need your wine, either,” Crowley muttered, aware that he was being sullen and petulant, but too drunk and defensive to care. “Can make my own anytime I like.” 

“You told me yourself it doesn’t taste the same!” Anathema retorted with a similarly juvenile note of triumph to her voice. “So fine,  _ go _ make your own if you like!” 

“Maybe I will!” Crowley snapped, lurching to his feet and setting the glass down on the coffee table so hard that he was actually surprised it didn’t break. “I don’t need you!” 

Anathema drew back, eyes wide and injured. “Well, I don’t need you either! Excuse me for caring!” 

“I  _ don’t _ excuse you! Mind your business!” 

“You’re the one who came into  _ my house _ and  _ brought it up _ !” 

“Well, maybe I should go back to  _ my _ house, then!” Crowley retorted. “And check on  _ my boyfriend _ … who  _ is  _ being faithful to me, no matter  _ what _ you think!” 

“Then you just  _ do _ that!”

“I  _ will _ !” 

“Fine!” 

“ _ Fine _ !” 

Crowley stormed out of Anathema’s house into the cool night air - more than a little drunk, but still feeling far too sober to deal with the troubling thoughts her questions had raised in his mind. And since she was annoyingly right about his opinions on the unsatisfying taste of miracled liquor, Crowley snapped his fingers and silently instructed the Bentley to take him back to London, and his favorite bar. 

As desperately, adamantly as he’d been defending him, Crowley was nowhere  _ near _ ready to go home yet, and face the angel he wasn’t quite sure was really still his at all. 

************************************************************************************

Gabriel waited, naked and on his knees in the backroom, shivering more with apprehension than with the chill of the empty room. He glanced anxiously at the watch, which Aziraphale had not bothered to reset before firmly instructing him to go and get ready. His mind racing with panic, Gabriel briefly considered going back out into the shop and  _ reminding _ Aziraphale of his situation - but immediately realized how foolish a choice that would be. 

Aziraphale  _ knew _ . 

Aziraphale could have stopped the countdown the moment Gabriel had entered the shop, if he’d wanted to. He knew how desperate Gabriel was by this point… knew what would happen if he didn’t enter the room in the next two minutes to prevent it. 

He  _ knew _ …  _ what Gabriel had done _ . He knew that Gabriel had asked Crowley for help. Gabriel’s fears had proven well-founded. Crowley was not here, by  _ Aziraphale’s design _ \- and Gabriel was completely at his mercy. 

Which meant that he was  _ completely fucked _ .

By the time Aziraphale finally entered the backroom, the watch was counting down seconds rather than minutes. 

“Please,” Gabriel burst out as soon as he saw him. “Please, sir…” 

“ _ Quiet _ .” Aziraphale’s tone was calm, but severe, as he grasped Gabriel’s wrist and glanced at the timer, before letting it go and turning away. 

Panic seized Gabriel, constricting in his chest, and he fought the useless impulse to plead further. 

His back turned to Gabriel as he faced the desk, Aziraphale lifted a hand and casually snapped his fingers. 

Gabriel flinched… then looked down at the watch, when nothing else seemed to have changed. The countdown had been averted; the time on the watch had changed - though the warning heat lingered in the gleaming metal. A cold trembling sensation settled in his stomach, his panic only slightly deferred.

He’d been granted a whole additional  _ ten minutes _ . 

“After what happened last week, I felt a serious conversation was in order,” Aziraphale explained as he turned to face Gabriel, a cool, calculated smile on his lips. “A  _ lesson _ , in fact. I did promise you one, didn’t I?” 

His heart pounding, rapid and desperate, against his ribs, Gabriel nodded, not daring to respond aloud… not daring to  _ not _ respond, either. His eyes darted back down to the watch. 

**_00:09:34… 00:09:33... 00:09:32…_ **

“Yes, a lesson that’s sorely overdue.” Aziraphale shook his head, a disapproving frown creasing his brow. “About what is expected of you. About your role in all of this… your role in  _ everything _ , really. Your  _ purpose _ , in Her creation. And the sort of behavior that is appropriate to that purpose.” 

Gabriel nodded again, hurriedly, his gaze locked onto the watch as he choked out a breathless, “Y-yes, sir…”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers again, and Gabriel blinked, startled at the appearance of a large, luxuriously thick rug beneath him - soft against his cold, battered knees. He looked up at Aziraphale, who met his uncertainty with an incongruously warm, knowing smile. 

“You may be there for some time this evening,” he explained softly. “We wouldn’t want you to become  _ too _ uncomfortable, would we? It might impede your ability to focus.” 

“No, sir,” Gabriel whispered, his eyes drifting back to the screen. “Th-thank you, sir.” 

**_00:08:43...00:08:42…_ **

Aziraphale nodded in silent acknowledgement of Gabriel’s gratitude, then turned to survey the room again, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin. 

“Hmm, let’s see… ah, yes, I know...” 

He waved his hand, and a large, overstuffed armchair appeared just a foot shy of the edge of the rug on which Gabriel knelt. Another miraculous gesture produced a simple end table beside it. 

“Just a moment,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll be right back, nearly ready now…”

He left the room, with the watch reading eight minutes precisely. 

When he returned, arms laden with a stack of books, the watch showed less than five minutes remaining. 

Aziraphale carefully set them on the table, then settled in the armchair, shifting a bit and wriggling down into it as if testing it for comfort. He squeezed the armrests gently, smiling with satisfaction. 

“Yes, this will do nicely,” he declared. 

Gabriel was nearly  _ vibrating _ with panic by this point, wide eyes locked onto the screen.

**_00:04:02… 00:04:01…_ **

Aziraphale went quiet for a moment, and then spoke again, his voice deceptively soft. “Is something  _ wrong _ , Gabriel?” 

Gabriel fairly sobbed with relief at the opportunity, and lowered his head toward the floor, holding his wrist up beseechingly. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Please… d-don’t let it...”

“You’d like me to adjust the time?” Aziraphale concluded. 

Gabriel nodded desperately. “Yes, sir, please...  _ please _ …” 

Aziraphale rose from his seat and closed the distance between them, crouching down to eye level with Gabriel, before simply nodding toward the watch. Gabriel lifted his gaze enough to inspect it - and his heart plummeted when he saw that the time had indeed changed again. 

**_00:00:51… 00:00:50… 00:00:49…_ **

“ _ Look at me _ .” 

Aziraphale grasped Gabriel’s wrist firmly, jerking him in close, his eyes sharp and piercing, demanding Gabriel’s attention. 

Gabriel stared at Aziraphale in horrified, desperate obedience. 

The principality’s face bore a grim smile, his gaze lit with quiet fury. 

“You’re going to pay very close attention, aren’t you, my dear?” he said softly. 

“Yes,” Gabriel gasped out, frantic. “Yes,  _ please _ …” 

“You’re going to  _ shut your mouth and listen _ ,” Aziraphale snapped, shaking him slightly. 

Gabriel bit his lip hard, nodding emphatically, tears streaking his face. 

“There, that’s better,” Aziraphale said with soft approval, lowering the hand that held Gabriel’s wrist to rest against his bare thigh, running his free hand through Gabriel’s hair in a soothing gesture. “You’re going to be quiet and respectful, aren’t you?” 

Gabriel nodded again, desperate, not daring to return his gaze to the watch, but terrified at the thought of how few seconds must be remaining by now. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale murmured, fingers gently scratching at Gabriel’s scalp for a moment before he withdrew his hand to snap his fingers again. 

At last, the watch went cool against Gabriel’s skin, and he knew that the countdown had stopped, even before he looked down at it to see that the countdown clock had returned to the previously remaining two days. 

He couldn’t suppress the deep, welling sob of relief that escaped his lips, even as Aziraphale yanked him in close by the wrist and leaned in to speak, sharp and soft, next to his ear. 

“If you  _ open your mouth _ without permission again, I’ll reset it, and I’ll let it go off, and I’ll  _ leave it _ until I feel you’ve properly learned your lesson, do you understand?” 

Gabriel nodded, suppressing the urge to apologize, to beg Aziraphale not to carry out the threat. 

Aziraphale tilted his head up to meet his eyes, a cruel, knowing smile on his lips, his tone hushed but pointed. 

“ _ Crowley _ won’t be home for  _ hours _ .” 

The implications of those words - the threat they carried, as well as the accusation - was perfectly clear to Gabriel.

He remained as silent as he could manage, his entire body shaking with residual shock and panic as Aziraphale rose and moved to the desk. He returned with the cuffs, dropping them onto the soft shag at Gabriel’s feet. He made no move to remove the watch as he usually would have done, so Gabriel picked them up and tried to put them on anyway.

His hands were shaking too badly to manage it. 

After he dropped them for the second time, Aziraphale crouched down facing him, and Gabriel cringed, biting his lip until he tasted blood to keep back an apology that would only incite Aziraphale’s rage. 

Aziraphale’s hand came to rest, gentle and firm against the bare skin of his shoulder, his tone hushed and soothing as he observed, “A bit shaken up, are we?” 

Gabriel nodded, swallowing back a sob. 

“Would you like me to help you, this time?” 

Gabriel nodded again, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude which he dared not put to words. 

Aziraphale nodded slowly, letting out a patient sigh, as he picked up the cuffs and carefully closed them around Gabriel’s wrists, the left one positioned just above the watch. 

“There now, isn’t that better?” 

Aziraphale soothed him, running gently possessive fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, as the familiar weary heaviness fell over Gabriel, and he let out a deep, shaky breath, closing his eyes and allowing the  _ sheer exhaustion _ induced by the cuffs to steady him, to slow his breathing, to  _ almost _ feel like the calm and control Gabriel needed to overcome the panic that had consumed him. 

Aziraphale rose and returned to the chair. He settled back and perused the books he’d selected, turning pages, and every now and then miracling into existence a delicate silk bookmark with which to take note of a specific passage, carefully placing it before moving further into the text. 

Gabriel had nearly stopped shaking, the silent sobs that had choked him now suppressed, when at last Aziraphale looked up at him with a light in his eyes that chilled Gabriel’s blood, and settled a tight knot of dread in his chest. 

“Now. I believe we’re ready,” Aziraphale stated softly, as he opened the book in his lap to the first place he had marked, and looked up at Gabriel with a bright, expectant smile. “Let’s begin.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: violent rape/non-con 
> 
> This is not a pleasant chapter for Gabriel. (The next one won't be, either.)

“I’ve been meaning to have a serious conversation with you,” Aziraphale informed Gabriel, quietly severe. “About your… self-perception. The way you present yourself to others, as compared to the demeanor you  _ should _ be projecting.” He smiled, a malicious, taunting sort of laughter in his eyes. “I’m sure you’re aware by now that the two are not exactly... in  _ alignment _ .” 

Gabriel stared down at the deep red carpet, soft beneath his bare knees. He swallowed hard, trying to slow the apprehensive racing of his heart as he took in Aziraphale’s assessment of him - precise, measured words delivered with a clinical detachment that belied the principality’s true feelings on the matter. 

Aziraphale was as lavish with his words as he accused Gabriel of being in his clothing choices. 

It was all an excessively pompous way of saying that Gabriel was prideful and arrogant.

A prideful, arrogant  _ hypocrite _ . 

An accusation for which Aziraphale  _ loved _ to pass down judgment, with often  _ brutal _ emphasis. 

And… maybe it had  _ once _ been true. Gabriel winced a little, now, when he thought of the way he’d paraded around Heaven, hardly even registering the attention he received from the other angels. The respect and admiration with which they looked at him had never surprised him; he’d only noticed it at all in the rare instances when he’d found it lacking. 

It was his expectation, his  _ right _ , that they should honor him. Follow him. Obey him.

Gabriel didn’t walk around Heaven like that anymore. At Aziraphale’s insistence, he’d  _ adjusted _ his presentation quite a lot lately. 

He was still an object of attention. Everyone seemed to notice him. 

But now, Gabriel averted his gaze when he saw other angels looking, and wondered uneasily what they might be thinking about him. His arrogance and pride had given way to a pervasive, underlying but ever-present sense of self-conscious shame. 

“Are you listening, my dear?” 

Aziraphale’s tone was deceptively soft, but Gabriel’s stomach lurched at the slight edge he heard within the question. He looked up swiftly to meet Aziraphale’s eyes - narrowed and speculative. 

“If you’re having difficulty paying attention… if I’m  _ boring _ you… I’m certain I can find a way to help you focus.” 

“No, sir,” Gabriel whispered, shaking his head quickly, forcing himself to hold Aziraphale’s cool, appraising gaze. “I’m listening,” he insisted, a trembling, urgent promise. “ _ I’m listening _ .” 

Aziraphale frowned slightly - then his brow relaxed, an almost fond smile on his lips as he gave Gabriel a little wink, and nodded once in acceptance. 

“Very good.” 

He turned his attention to the page in front of him, scanning delicately down the length of a column with his index finger until he found the place he was seeking. 

“Have you ever taken the time to study what’s written about you in human religious texts, Gabriel?” he asked, a smirk twisting the affection on his face into contempt. “Surely you must have.” 

Gabriel swallowed slowly, shaking his head, eyes dropped back to the thick, soft carpet. “I - don’t really -  _ read _ ,” he admitted. 

He  _ could _ read, of course, but didn’t usually use the skill beyond reviewing Heavenly reports, or plans for various missions, or occasionally the file of some angel on his staff. He’d known that Aziraphale must find human books particularly interesting, to have chosen to run a bookshop as his Earthly base of operations - but until recently, he hadn’t given much thought to what human books were even  _ for _ . 

“No. Of course you don’t.” 

Gabriel could hear the quiet disgust in Aziraphale’s tone, and his mouth went dry, his head falling lower as he tensed, awaiting punishment for this new failure. 

“Did you know that some religious traditions actually refer to you as the Peacock of Heaven?” Aziraphale continued with soft contempt. “How you must have appeared to the humans who wrote that, in order to merit  _ that _ moniker.” 

Gabriel had  _ not _ known that; he’d never stuck around long enough after any given message delivery to see or hear the humans’ reactions - beyond the initial awe and terror, of course. It was enough that they responded to his presence with wonder and reverence; he’d never felt the need for any sort of follow-up. 

This new bit of perspective made his skin feel flushed and hot, a sick feeling of shame settling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Always so grandiose in your delivery,” Aziraphale scoffed, shaking his head, lips pursed with an ugly, disgusted sort of amusement. “Loud and prancing, arrogantly adorned in your finery… drawing all sorts of attention to yourself. Tell me, Gabriel…” 

He turned the pages of the book in his hands, then turned it around so that Gabriel could see the illustration, an elaborate painting portraying a young woman being visited by an angel - an angel dressed in shining white robes with shimmering purple accents, dark hair flowing about his shoulders, bright light shining all around him, his arms outstretched and chest puffed out, one clear message evident in every facet of his demeanor. 

_ Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.  _

Gabriel wanted to sink through the soft carpet and the wood floor beneath it and  _ disappear _ . 

“... what was the point?” Aziraphale mused, shaking his head as he turned the book back around on his lap to peruse the painting himself. “What useful purpose is served by such a prideful display? Is that in keeping with your  _ calling _ , Gabriel?” 

Gabriel frowned, conflicting thoughts flooding his mind. His lips parted in preparation for an answer that he was not prepared to give, or even to put into words. He shut his mouth again and swallowed, shaking his head. 

“Go on.” 

He looked up at Aziraphale with alarm, startled. 

He hadn’t actually  _ said _ anything - had he? 

“You have a question. Or - an opinion,” Aziraphale observed, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Tell me.” 

Gabriel hesitated. 

He didn’t want to make Aziraphale angry - but silence was as likely to incur his wrath as a wrong answer that he probably already knew Gabriel was thinking, anyway. 

“I’m - Her messenger,” Gabriel ventured at last, cautious and halting. “It’s - my calling to deliver Her words. So - I’m  _ supposed _ to draw attention.” He swallowed hard, his words soft and uncertain. “Aren’t I?” 

A knowing light in his eyes, Aziraphale smiled. “Is  _ that _ how you’ve always justified it to yourself,” he concluded with the tone of a long-pondered question, now finally answered. His smile faded. “You’re meant to draw attention to Her,” he snapped. “Not to yourself.” 

Gabriel winced, lowering his gaze and nodding quickly, accepting the truth in the words. 

“You’re the messenger, Gabriel - not the message.” Aziraphale declared. “And yet you make this tremendous spectacle for the poor, frightened little humans. All dressed in your impressive finery, displaying extravagant,  _ frivolous _ miracles… showing off. Reveling in their awe. In their fear.” 

A hard note crept into Aziraphale’s voice, a taut, resentful sound that settled a cold knot in Gabriel’s chest. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never done that. On Earth. In Heaven. I know better.” 

Gabriel nodded, cringing at the well-aimed accusation.

“You do so love to throw your metaphorical weight around, don’t you?” Aziraphale smiled, a tight, unpleasant thing. “Meeting innocent, honest mistakes with casual insults and threats of demotion. You have always  _ so _ enjoyed ensuring that every single person around you is always aware of your tremendous power over them.” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel whispered, his head bowed in humble submission. “I know I... haven’t always…” 

But Aziraphale was far from finished. 

“You reinforce your own power and authority… and in so doing you draw their worship. Draw the glory to yourself that’s meant for only Her,” he declared, sharp, accusing. “Now, we know of someone else who attempted such a thing, quite a long time ago, don’t we?” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched, and he shook his head in instinctive denial of the disturbing comparison. 

“We know very well where  _ his _ pride led him, don’t we…?”

“No,” Gabriel objected, staring up at Aziraphale in horror. “No, I don’t want - I  _ never  _ wanted to…”

Aziraphale’s hand shot out, seizing a handful of Gabriel’s hair and jerking him in close; Gabriel tensed, not daring to resist, though his left hand rose instinctively between them in a pleadingly defensive gesture. Aziraphale caught his wrist before he could lower it, holding it there in place. His words were low, calm and measured. 

“I am  _ speaking _ , Gabriel.” 

He smiled, studying Gabriel’s face closely as his fingertips gently traced the edge of the gleaming metal locked around the archangel’s wrist. 

“If you  _ insist _ on being so very rude… we can have an entirely  _ different _ lesson…”

_ No, no, please don’t… _

Gabriel bit his lip to hold back the words, and just shook his head, silently, desperately pleading. 

Aziraphale’s grip on his hair eased to a caress, and he lowered his other hand, his expression softening. 

“Much better.” 

He let Gabriel go and leaned back in his chair again, shaking his head. 

“You’re always  _ talking _ , Gabriel,” he sighed. “Always so obnoxiously certain that you already know everything there is to know - and that everyone else in the room should be eternally grateful to hear it.” He was quiet for a moment. “There’s more than that to being Her messenger, you know. A good messenger must also possess the skill of  _ listening _ . Otherwise, he ends up missing Her instruction entirely… and going astray. As you have done.” 

Gabriel said nothing, staring at the floor at Aziraphale’s feet as he tried to catch his breath as quietly as possible. 

Aziraphale was right; he’d never been very good at listening. 

Perhaps She’d warned him, or sent someone to warn him, of this fate - and he’d been so certain of his own wisdom, his own unshakeable authority, that he’d entirely missed it. 

Perhaps he’d brought all of this onto himself. 

“Peacock of Heaven, indeed,” Aziraphale huffed, quietly contemptuous. “Appropriate. But it shouldn’t be.” He set the book in his lap aside and took up another one, slowly paging through it until he found the place he was looking for. “There’s another bird, oddly enough, that is traditionally associated with the concept of God’s messenger - and  _ that _ is the example we’re going to discuss. The example you should begin to  _ follow _ .” 

Aziraphale began to read from the book in front of him. The words themselves were unfamiliar to Gabriel - but the events they described were not. He well remembered the Great Flood, and the man that God had instructed to build a boat - though he had little idea what that particular piece of history was supposed to have to do with him now. 

“Noah sent out both a dove and a raven, to see if it was safe for his family to leave the Ark,” Aziraphale explained when he’d finished reading the passage. “The raven flew away and did not return… but the dove was  _ obedient  _ to her purpose, and returned with an olive branch - the  _ message _ that there was indeed dry ground on which for humanity to walk again. The dove has always been the symbolic messenger of God - and doves have historically been trained and used to send messages among humans, as well.” He was quiet for a moment. “Now, what sort of behavior do you suppose is typical of a dove, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel didn’t really know all that much about Her earthly creation. He knew what a dove was, what one looked like - but little else about them. He shook his head, at a loss, his answer soft and subdued. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Have you heard the saying, ‘wise as serpents, but harmless as doves’?” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Of course you haven’t, you neither read nor listen to others when they speak.” He leaned forward a bit in his seat, head tilted downward to catch Gabriel’s eye, and Gabriel tensed as he warily met his gaze, braced for another attack. Aziraphale just smiled, his words clear and sharp, arresting Gabriel’s attention with electric intensity. “But you’re  _ listening, now _ … aren’t you, my dear?”

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, breathless with fear, nodding emphatically. “ _ Yes _ .” 

“Doves are described as harmless - they’re not aggressive creatures. They’re gentle… meek… humble.” Aziraphale smiled. “ _ Quiet _ . They don’t go about making all manner of noise and drawing attention to themselves. Why, the sound a dove makes is so soft, one would never even know it was there. Do you understand?” 

Gabriel nodded slowly. He did understand. 

Aziraphale had made it quite clear - he wanted Gabriel  _ quiet _ . 

Aziraphale leaned back in his seat again, reaching for a third book. “There was something else I found, that was quite interesting, about the quality and the purpose of doves…” 

As he laid the book out in front of him, Gabriel caught a glimpse of the cover. It was a book of ancient history. Aziraphale leafed through it a moment before stopping, his finger poised against the page. 

“Yes, it says right here that in the ancient Jewish tradition, doves were offered as a sacrifice to God, for forgiveness of their sins.” He looked up at Gabriel, his expression solemn, a troubled frown creasing his brow. 

“You have a  _ lot _ of sins, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel felt an unsettled feeling, a quivering in his stomach. He lowered his head, feeling his breath accelerate with anxiety, as Aziraphale set aside the third book and rose from his chair. Gabriel flinched as he moved in close to him - but Aziraphale just knelt on the carpet facing Gabriel. He reached out to brush his fingertips across the back of Gabriel’s hand in a soft line, a fraction of an inch from the watch. 

Gabriel stared at the point of contact with dread, until Aziraphale’s free hand pressed at his jaw, tilting his head up and insisting upon eye contact. His expression was as solemn and earnest as his tone, patient and leading. 

“Your suffering is your sacrifice. You’re making atonement for those sins as we speak, Gabriel. You are the dove - and by the sacrifice of your suffering, you may attain purification - forgiveness for your sins.” 

Aziraphale seemed wholeheartedly convinced of the words he was speaking - but they didn’t make sense to Gabriel. He hadn’t spent the centuries in study that Aziraphale had spent, and was by no means an expert in any of the books Aziraphale had referenced; but nothing he’d ever learned in Heaven had indicated that suffering was a necessary path to forgiveness. 

And really - nothing Aziraphale had read to him seemed to indicate that, either. 

He frowned, confused - only realizing with alarm that he’d done it when Aziraphale’s expression soured, and he sighed with exasperation, leaning back a bit and resting his hands on his own knees. 

“ _ What _ ?” he demanded, impatient. 

Gabriel shook his head. “Nothing.” 

“No, it’s something,” Aziraphale insisted. “Tell me. What is that look about?” 

Gabriel winced. He didn’t want to voice his doubts, but he knew better than to refuse to answer. He took a breath, and chose careful, respectful words. 

“It’s just that… I don’t know if I… I mean, I’m - not sure what in the passages that you read… means that. About… suffering purifying me of my sins.” He could  _ feel _ Aziraphale’s rising anger, and the responding panic blooming in his own chest, his pulse quickening, as he desperately pleaded, “I want to understand it. I do. Just - could you please… read the part again, that means that? So I can understand?” 

Gabriel didn’t dare lift his eyes to Aziraphale’s face again, but his tone was icy cold, edged with restrained fury. 

“You’d  _ dare _ to question Her?” 

“No, I’m not questioning  _ Her, _ I’m…” Gabriel’s words broke off abruptly when he realized what he’d just said, and he shrank down, his arms anxiously wrapped around his torso as Aziraphale rose to his feet. “I - I didn’t mean that, I meant - it’s just that…” He gave up, unable to find words to take back the ones he’d already said. 

“Yes, because  _ you’ve _ done so well at interpreting Her words  _ and  _ Her will thus far, haven’t you?” Aziraphale seethed, sitting back down in his chair and reaching for the top book on the stack. “It’s just as I’ve said. You always think you know better than anyone else. Even after your  _ incredibly _ impressive  _ failure _ related to the Apocalypse that She  _ never _ wanted - you still think you’ve nothing at all to learn from anyone, least of all me, is that it?” 

Gabriel flinched. “I’m sorry,” he whispered desperately, glancing nervously up at Aziraphale. “Please. I - I didn’t mean that…”

Aziraphale’s severe glare silenced him. He sighed and opened the book again, paging through it in search of another passage. “Yes, it says right here, by ancient Hebrew law, the ritual of purification was to be performed…” His words trailed off, and he stared at the page - then closed his eyes for a long moment, his jaw taut, lips tight, as he visibly struggled for control. He shook his head, letting out a sharp sigh. 

“No. I’m not doing this.” 

He abruptly closed the book and put it back down hard, glaring down at Gabriel again. 

“Go to the desk and bring me my gloves.” 

Gabriel’s stomach dropped, and he shook his head. “ _ Please, _ ” he whispered. 

“I’m not going to indulge your disrespect, your  _ demands _ as to how this lesson should be conducted,” Aziraphale snapped. 

“I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful,” Gabriel pleaded, his voice quivering dangerously. “I just - I was - confused…” 

“You do remember the correct drawer, this time, don’t you?” Aziraphale cut him off sharply, hands folded primly across his lap, very pointedly not looking at Gabriel. 

Gabriel hesitated only a moment longer before his shoulders fell, and he let out an unsteady breath. “Yes,” he replied, a defeated whisper, as he rose from knees that felt weak and shaky, and headed toward the desk. 

“The whip, too,” Aziraphale instructed mildly, as Gabriel slid the drawer open. 

Gabriel froze for a moment, the gloves in his hand, staring down at the hellfire whip, before he managed to force himself to pick it up, careful only to touch the handle. He returned to Aziraphale and held out the requested items in both hands. 

Aziraphale took the gloves, and left Gabriel holding the whip while he slowly, methodically put them on. He was still seated in the chair, with Gabriel standing before him, his hands and his focus occupied - and a wild impulse born of pure panic occurred to Gabriel: the mental image of lashing out with the whip, striking Aziraphale enough times to incapacitate him, and fleeing the room. 

But… the hellfire whip would  _ not _ incapacitate Aziraphale. 

And there was nowhere to go. 

Gabriel’s mind went to how that would  _ actually _ play out, and what Aziraphale would  _ do to him  _ for such violent defiance, and he shuddered. He sank to his knees as Aziraphale finished putting on the gloves, keeping his head bowed low, his heart thudding madly against his ribs. 

“Please,” he choked out. “Please don’t. I - I won’t question you again, I didn’t mean it that way. I  _ do _ respect you, I - I know you - know more about this than I do, and - I’ll listen. I’ll stop talking and I’ll listen to you,  _ please _ , Aziraphale…”

Aziraphale allowed him to ramble on, desperate words falling out over each other, while he carefully adjusted the gloves - and then abruptly lashed out, his fist falling across Gabriel’s face. The whip fell from Gabriel’s hands, the lashes searing his arms as it fell to the floor, and he cried out - a cry that broke off sharply when Aziraphale crouched down to face him and grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck, hauling him in close. His free hand reached down to retrieve the whip and hold it up close to Gabriel’s face. 

“You will _ be silent _ .” 

Gabriel nodded frantically, choking back a panicked sob. 

Aziraphale’s hand at the back of his neck softened, fingers threading through his hair. 

“As meek and as quiet as a dove… yes?” 

Gabriel nodded again, struggling to be quiet, as Aziraphale let go of him and straightened up to stand facing him, looking down at him, coldly speculative. 

“I never instructed you to kneel,” he observed after a moment, deceptively mild. 

Gabriel scrambled to his feet, his heart racing with panic. A thousand useless words filled his mind - pleas and apologies and explanations, as if just the right combination of them spoken with just the right note of eloquence might somehow talk his way out of this. He bit his lip and kept quiet, reminding himself that there were no words that would help him now. 

Aziraphale desired his silence. 

Gabriel surrendered his voice, and stood quietly with his head bowed, his right hand nervously circling his left wrist, running along the edge of the watch - just waiting, while Aziraphale studied him, eyes narrowed, head tilted speculatively, as if mentally considering all of the most terrible options available to him. 

Gabriel could imagine quite a few.

Aziraphale stepped toward Gabriel, one gloved hand closing around his arm and gently but firmly guiding him backward a few steps. Gabriel moved with him easily, submitting to the wordless instruction. He realized that he was standing directly under the bar suspended from the ceiling - a moment before Aziraphale waved his hand, and abruptly the cuffs around Gabriel’s wrists shot up to fasten themselves to the bar. 

He tugged against it instinctively, not really attempting or expecting any type of escape, his hands clenched into useless fists above his head. He fought to suppress the feeling of panic that always came with being so completely exposed, the entire expanse of his bare skin vulnerable to whatever Aziraphale devised. Gabriel shivered as the principality circled him, slowly, fingertips brushing feather-light across his ribcage as Aziraphale came around to face him. 

Aziraphale looked down at the whip, holding it in front of him in both hands, before smiling up into Gabriel’s wide, panicked eyes. 

“I don’t want to hear a  _ sound _ ,” he declared softly. “Is that clear?” 

Gabriel nodded, terror clenching tight in his chest. He knew well the agony of the hellfire whip - and Aziraphale expected  _ silence _ in the face of that suffering. Gabriel felt a deep, swelling sense of despair. It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t manage it.

Somehow… he did. 

He bit his lip until he tasted blood in his mouth, his eyes tightly shut as he tried to focus on his breathing, and to make no more sound than that, despite the fiery impact of the whip that drove the breath from his body with every lash. 

It helped that Aziraphale only administered a few sharp, fierce blows. No more than five, delivered across Gabriel’s back, searing his skin and tearing his flesh; still, he could feel the blood trickling from the cuts, running down his legs to drip onto the floor at his feet. 

The silken fabric of Aziraphale’s gloves was soft against Gabriel’s cheek, and against the curve of his hip, resting still and casually possessive. 

“There, now,” Aziraphale said softly. “That wasn’t so very bad, was it?” 

Gabriel shook his head, his breath coming in shallow, stuttering gasps, his eyes fluttering closed with relief. 

It was short-lived, and premature. 

Abruptly Aziraphale snapped his fingers - and the entire bar from which Gabriel was suspended slid all the way across the ceiling, taking Gabriel with it and slamming his battered back hard into the wall, scraping the deep, burning lashes against the rough brick surface. It was completely unexpected, a breathtaking impact followed by a fresh explosion of pain - and Gabriel cried out, remembering a moment too late to stifle the sound. 

Aziraphale laughed, low and cruel, as he closed the distance between them with slow, measured steps. Gabriel was briefly relieved to see that he was no longer holding the whip - but reminded himself of the truth with a sinking heart: 

He hardly needed it. 

“I’m impressed,” Aziraphale remarked, teasing, a spark of cold amusement in his eyes. “You were very nearly  _ obedient _ .” 

Gabriel struggled to suppress a sense of  _ outrage _ at the words; he  _ was _ obedient, he’d remained silent while being whipped, and  _ no one _ could keep quiet under the circumstances Aziraphale was inflicting, it  _ wasn’t possible _ … 

_ I tried, I tried so hard, please, please no more… _

Another wave of Aziraphale’s hand served to shorten the chains that connected the bar to the ceiling, drawing it up several inches so that Gabriel’s feet barely brushed the floor. His ravaged back dragged against the bricks once again. His legs buckled, his vision swimming for a moment as he struggled to keep silent, but couldn’t quite suppress a low moan of pain. 

Aziraphale’s mouth tightened, eyes narrowed in accusation. 

“Looks as if you need a bit more practice, don’t you? Well, I believe I can help you with that.” 

He blinked - and the chains grew even shorter, until Gabriel was suspended from the bar, elevated against the wall. His feet were now several inches above the floor, his wrists burning from the strain as well as the hellfire cuffs that dug into them more deeply now. He let out a choked little cry of panic, kicking and struggling as he tried uselessly to regain his footing. 

Aziraphale moved in close to him, his hand closing firmly around Gabriel’s thigh and pushing him back against the wall. Gabriel knew that if he  _ kicked Aziraphale, _ the consequences would be unthinkable; he fought to suppress his very instincts and go still, though his entire body was taut and trembling with terror and agony. 

“If you fight,” Aziraphale reminded him softly, “it will be worse.” 

Gabriel nodded, turning his head into his arm to hide his face, to muffle the choked little sounds he couldn’t quite hold back. Aziraphale firmly turned his face back toward him, refusing to allow his retreat, and Gabriel couldn’t stifle a despairing sob. Aziraphale shifted in closer to him, fingers brushing through his hair, across his cheek, the hand on his thigh sliding around his body to cup the curve of his ass. 

“I know,” he said softly, soothingly. “I know it hurts.” His hand gripped Gabriel’s jaw, pressing his head back against the wall, his tone hardening. “You’re going to learn to be quiet even when it hurts. You’re going to learn to obey even when obedience is difficult.” 

Gabriel’s heart sank at the sound of Aziraphale’s zipper going down, when he realized how Aziraphale intended to teach this particular lesson. Gabriel’s painful position, elevated against the wall, made it easy for Aziraphale to position himself at just the right angle to enter Gabriel’s body with a swift, brutal thrust. The impact shoved his entire body up the wall, tearing at his wounded back, and Gabriel cried out. 

Aziraphale retaliated with a breathtaking slap that slammed Gabriel’s head into the wall, dizzying him. 

“That mouth of yours,” Aziraphale hissed, thrusting again, and then again, settling into a forceful, punishing pace. “Just keeps getting you into trouble… doesn’t it?” 

A plaintive whimper escaped Gabriel’s lips, and Aziraphale responded with an even harder thrust, gripping his arms and pressing his body back against the wall. 

“Can’t just  _ keep it shut _ … can you?” 

The lashes of the whip had hurt - but now, Gabriel’s entire back felt as if it was on fire. Hot tears streaked his face, as he tried, and failed, to choke back his sobs of agony. Aziraphale’s hands tightened on his arms, pulling him forward a bit just to slam him into the wall again, as his cock slammed ruthlessly into Gabriel, over and over. 

“Had to go running your mouth  _ to Crowley _ , didn’t you?” Aziraphale snarled, and Gabriel’s stomach plummeted. “Imagining for even a  _ moment _ that he of all people would take  _ your _ side over  _ mine _ !” 

It was just as Gabriel had feared - somehow, Aziraphale knew that he’d tried to appeal to Crowley the previous week. This was his punishment for that offense. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he sobbed, mindless with agony. Everything was on fire - his back, his wrists where the cuffs dug into them, his arms from the strain of supporting the weight of his body, and the place where Aziraphale’s body plundered his, tearing into him with vicious, punishing force. “Please, I’m  _ sorry _ ,” Gabriel begged, tears streaking his face. 

Aziraphale stopped moving for a moment, seizing a handful of Gabriel’s hair and pulling him forward while jerking his head back, hard, leaning into his face. 

“Apparently not sorry enough to simply _ shut the fuck up _ !” 

Aziraphale snarled, then slammed Gabriel’s head into the wall again, with enough force to make his body momentarily go limp. He felt dizzy, his vision graying out at the edges, his past sins filling his muddled, disjointed thoughts, an echo of memory that condemned him with his own voice. 

_ Shut your stupid mouth, and die already... _

His cries of pain faded to nothing more than a soft, breathless whimper. He was too weak and too weary to silence it, and braced for the punishment that would surely follow the sound. 

But... none came. 

“That’s it,” Aziraphale said, all at once a startling note of  _ approval _ in his voice, softly encouraging, fingers carding gently through Gabriel’s hair to soothe the ache of the impact against his skull. “That’s much better, my dove. Nothing more than the softest sound… nothing that could possibly be heard outside this room… is that understood?” 

Gabriel nodded weakly, biting down on his lower lip and struggling to suppress the sounds of his suffering, as Aziraphale continued driving into his body, though somewhat more slowly now, with less force. The backs of his gloved fingers brushed against Gabriel’s cheek, his voice low and threatening, breathless with his own exertion. 

“You are  _ done _ ,” he declared. “Done attempting to manipulate your way out of this. Done trying to manipulate  _ my Crowley _ into taking your side. Trying to turn him against me. Aren’t you?” 

Gabriel nodded, completely sincere. Crowley didn’t believe him, and had no interest in helping him anyway. Appealing to Crowley had accomplished nothing except to make the demon angry with him… and to get him  _ here _ . 

There was no way he was going to try  _ that _ again. 

“Going to keep your treacherous whore mouth  _ shut _ ,” Aziraphale snarled, punctuating the words with a particularly sharp thrust. 

Gabriel flinched and bit back a whimper, but nodded again in submission and acceptance. 

For a moment there was nothing more than the sounds of Aziraphale’s harsh breathing, and Gabriel’s almost stifled sobs - and then suddenly, another sound broke through above them, clearly heard. 

The sound of the bell over the bookshop door. 

Aziraphale froze, wide, startled eyes staring into Gabriel’s, as he immediately raised a hand to press across Gabriel’s mouth, silencing any sound that he might have made. 

The archangel scarcely dared to  _ breathe _ . 

“Angel?” An uncertain voice, followed by the sound of the door closing, as it called out again into the stillness. “Where are you?” 

Crowley had come home early. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: more trauma for Gabriel, violent non-con and extreme emotional abuse - and dub-con between Aziraphale and Crowley. 
> 
> This is a dark, dark story, and it's gonna be a while before things REALLY get better for Gabriel - but I can say we're nearing a definite turning point. ;) 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting, those of you who are along for the ride on this particularly twisted story. Your encouraging feedback is so greatly appreciated! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> *hugs*  
> DoS

Crowley didn’t stay at the bar for long. 

He felt frustrated and unsettled, angry with Anathema and with Aziraphale and with Gabriel, but mostly with himself. The truth was, it wasn’t really Anathema’s fault at all. He’d been feeling that way for weeks now, and he’d already had enough to drink that night to conclude that getting even _more_ shit-faced wasn’t going to help with any of it. He couldn’t fault the girl for caring - but he couldn’t put her concerns to rest, either. 

What he needed was to go home and talk to his angel. 

He’d just parked the Bentley and was headed down the sidewalk toward the bookshop when his mobile rang, for the fourth time since he’d left his abruptly aborted “book club” meeting. 

It was Anathema. Again. 

Crowley stopped walking, sighing down at the screen and momentarily considering actually answering it this time. Instead, he just watched the screen until it went dark again. He started walking, about to put the phone away in his pocket when it vibrated, and he examined the screen again. It now displayed a brief text message, also from Anathema. 

_answer your phone dumbass_ 😠❤️

Crowley stared down at the message in indecision, until it faded to black. 

When his phone lit up again a few seconds later, vibrating in his hand… he answered. 

“Hey.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Crowley sighed. “Me, too,” he admitted. 

“It’s just that… I care about you,” Anathema explained, hesitant but earnest. “I don’t like feeling like you’re getting hurt, or… or wronged. You know?” She was quiet for a moment. “You’re my friend,” she concluded simply. 

“Am I?” Crowley’s tone was wry and dubious, but he immediately felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He didn’t exactly have that many friends to begin with; it wasn’t as if he could afford to piss the best one off and chase her away. “Still?” 

“Of course, dumbass,” Anathema retorted, scoffing. “You still owe me... a _ridiculous_ amount of alcohol.” 

“Yeah, s’pose I do,” Crowley conceded.

“And… I worry. About you.”

“I know.” Crowley closed his eyes over a sad smile, touched by the warmth of her concern. 

He couldn’t admit to her that he did too, actually. Worry. About himself, and whether or not his millennia-old relationship was nothing more than a structure already condemned and crumbling to pieces with him still inside. About Gabriel, and what sort of damage Aziraphale was doing to him with his consistent, systematically degrading treatment. 

About _Aziraphale_ \- and the unsettling ways in which he had… _changed,_ over the past couple of months. Yeah, he seemed to be slowly returning to something closer to his old self these days, but there was still a certain _edge_ to his words… a certain coldness in his eyes… that made Crowley feel like he was being somehow… shut out. Kept at arm’s length. 

_Deceived. Played for a fool, if Anathema’s right…_

Of course, he couldn’t admit his fears to her without reawakening the discussion that had driven him from her home that night - and he _could not_ have that discussion with her. Couldn’t tell her the details that she would need to know in order to understand - because she would _never_ understand, and she would never forgive him for the significant part he’d played in it all. 

Not tonight. Not ever. 

“I know,” he said at last. “And… I appreciate that you care so much, but… I am a fully grown demon,” he declared, keeping his tone as light as he could manage. “I can decide for myself which risks are worth taking, and face the consequences of those risks when I take them.” He considered for a moment, shrugging and grimacing a little as he pointed out, “It’s… kinda how I ended up a demon in the first place.” 

Anathema was quiet for a moment, and when she did speak, she sounded distinctly unimpressed. 

“Not exactly a winning argument.” 

Crowley tried to think of a counterpoint for a long moment before admitting with a sad little laugh, “... Yeah, you got me there.” After a moment’s slightly awkward silence, he continued. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have stormed out because I didn’t like your opinion. Got a right to speak your mind, in your own house, drunk off your own hooch. It’s one of the things I love best about you.” 

Anathema laughed. “My hooch?” 

Crowley smiled. “I’ll bring my own, next time,” he promised. 

“You won’t make it, will you?” she asked, a wary note of disgust in her voice. “Like… out of miracles, or whatever? Because the way you talk about that stuff, it sounds like it tastes like shit.” 

“I must have described it well,” Crowley concluded with a grin, quite pleased with himself. “No, I might employ a _little_ miracle just to… _relocate_ some already existing _quality_ alcohol. But I won’t miracle it into existence. I promise - I’ll bring the real deal.” 

Anathema was quiet for a moment, and there was relief in her voice when she spoke. “So… I’ll see you next week, then?” 

“Of course.” Crowley smiled. “Dumbass.” 

“Good.” She sighed. “And… I’ll try to be a little more careful what I say about Ass-Fail in the future…”

“ _Anathema_.” Crowley’s smile faded, a warning note in his voice. 

“What?” she demanded. “Aziraphale! I said _Aziraphale_!” 

Crowley just sighed and shook his head a little, rolling his eyes as he stopped on the front step of the bookshop. The exasperation he felt was fond, and he couldn’t help being just a _little_ amused at the exaggerated, false innocence in her voice. But his amusement was swiftly swallowed up by the weight of his worries, and his smile faded as he tried to find the right words. 

“It’s _6000 years_ , love,” he said at last, quiet and weary, and trying to somehow make her understand something that _truly was_ beyond her comprehension. “You don’t just… throw that away.” 

She was quiet - a long, pointed silence in which he could clearly hear the words she graciously didn’t say. 

_Aziraphale very nearly did._

“For what it’s worth,” she said aloud at last, solemn and heart-felt, “I really, _really_ hope I’m wrong about him.” 

Crowley hesitated a moment before admitting softly, “Me, too.” 

He disconnected the call and unlocked the shop door, noting that the light around the edges of the drawn blinds was low and muted. 

“Angel?” he called out into the stillness as he looked around. “Where are you?” 

The shop was quiet and dim, just a couple of small lamps left on near the front counter. The door to the backroom was shut, and there was no sign of life anywhere. 

Crowley wandered the stacks for a few moments, peering around the shelves into the gloom. It was not uncommon for him to find Aziraphale in some quiet corner, having inadvertently become lost in a book he’d only intended to reshelve. 

That did not appear to be the case tonight. 

Crowley supposed that Aziraphale had gone upstairs for the evening to wait for him to return home - but now that he was here, Crowley found himself hesitating, uncertain if he was ready to talk to him or not. 

There was almost always an uneasy sort of tension there, these days - between the questions Crowley didn’t really want answered, and the details Aziraphale certainly wasn’t going to volunteer. But… Aziraphale _did_ seem to be trying. Crowley hadn’t lied to Anathema about that. He seemed to be cautiously relenting and going a little bit easier on Gabriel, trying to be more open with Crowley about the whole situation, and trying to find a middle ground somehow, where he and Crowley would both be satisfied. 

Crowley wasn’t sure that could ever really happen, as long as the archangel was a consistent presence in their lives. He just wanted things back to the way they’d been, before he’d quite accidentally performed the most ill-fated temptation of his entire existence, and enticed Aziraphale into this whole mess. 

Crowley abandoned the stacks and headed toward the stairs - then stopped at the foot of them, his gaze falling on the closed backroom door, barely illuminated in the warm glow of the lamp on the counter. He hesitated a moment before moving toward it, drawn by some deep-seated instinct - or perhaps just a suspicion that he couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard he’d been trying lately. 

He went quiet, listening, but heard no sound, no indication that anyone was inside. His hand closed around the handle, turning it just a little, just enough to test it. 

He was unsurprised to find it locked. 

These days, Aziraphale always kept it locked when he was not nearby. 

_Why? What is he hiding from you? Why would he care if you went inside?_

Crowley shook his head, frowning with frustration at himself. 

_He wouldn’t. He’s not hiding anything. He knows a locked door wouldn’t keep me out if I wanted in..._

Crowley hesitated, his hand still closed around the knob. 

_Did_ he want in? 

“Angel?” he called out, his own voice sounding hoarse and harsh in the stillness. 

There was no response. 

_He’s not in there… nowhere in sight..._

_Just… one quick little miracle, and you could just… take a look around inside. See for yourself._

Crowley sighed, shaking his head and turning away from the door. 

He was being ridiculous. There was no reason to betray his angel’s trust, no reason to invade his privacy over foolish, baseless suspicions. He turned back toward the stairs - then stopped, his gaze drawn to a slim white envelope on the front counter, embossed with his own name in gold lettering on the front. 

Crowley frowned. He hadn’t noticed that there before. 

Of course, he hadn’t exactly been looking for it, either. 

He opened the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper inside, to find Aziraphale’s elegant hand-writing across the page. 

_“Darling Crowley,_

_Found myself a bit peckish, so went out for a bite._

_Hope your evening out was lovely. See you soon._

_All my love,_

_Aziraphale”_

Crowley smiled a little to himself, relieved. 

Now _that_ sounded just like his angel - the angel he’d known and loved for six millennia, the angel who couldn’t resist a taste of something tempting when left to his own devices for any length of time at all. The mental image of Aziraphale, delightedly tucking into some delectable entree at one of his favorite restaurants, mercifully overwrote any half-formed, darker images that had been taking shape in Crowley’s mind. 

He slipped the note into his pocket and headed up the stairs to wait for his angel to come home. 

***************************************************************************

Gabriel scarcely dared to breathe at the sounds of Crowley moving through the bookshop. Aziraphale’s hand clamped tight across his mouth, his eyes just a little too wide and wild, betraying his panic at the prospect of being caught. His free hand tangled in Gabriel’s hair, dragging his head down to hiss out a low, fierce threat in his ear. 

“I will _ruin_ you.” His fist clenched tight, a stinging pull against Gabriel’s scalp that held him immobile and helpless in the principality’s grip. “For a _single sound_ …”

With his arms stretched high above his head, pressed tight between the wall and Aziraphale’s body still buried within his, Gabriel could barely move at all. Aziraphale’s painful, grasping hands kept him from even shaking his head; but he knew that Aziraphale could feel his attempt - a desperate, wordless promise of silence. He held his breath, trying not to let even the softest sound escape his lips. 

Gabriel’s ill-fated attempt to appeal to Crowley’s mercy had shattered what little hope he’d still held; he didn’t want the demon to come through the backroom door any more than Aziraphale did. 

He knew now - drawing Crowley’s attention to what was happening in this room could only make things worse. 

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice was much closer now. 

Gabriel’s heart lurched when he heard the sound of the doorknob turning - but only a little. He’d been too panicked to register it when Aziraphale had first entered the room - too focused on his desperation for Aziraphale to just make the countdown _stop_ \- to notice Aziraphale locking the door behind him. But he could visualize it now, a clear image in immediate memory. 

Not that a mere locked door would keep a demon out, if he really wanted to come in. 

Crowley, apparently, did not. 

Gabriel kept his focus on Aziraphale, watching him closely, lest he accidentally miss some wordless instruction - accidentally _disobey_ , and pay a steep price for it. Aziraphale’s face was turned toward the door, and he smiled a little, a light of inspiration in his narrowed eyes. He released Gabriel’s hair to wave his hand with a little flourish toward the door. Though nothing happened that Gabriel could see, Aziraphale seemed satisfied with whatever silent miracle he’d performed. 

And a few moments later, they heard the soft, rhythmic thudding of Crowley’s footsteps on the stairs - leaving the bookshop, and going up to Aziraphale’s living space above it. 

Aziraphale’s eyes were bright with triumph as he turned his satisfied smile toward Gabriel, running his fingers through Gabriel’s hair again, gently soothing away the sting where he’d yanked it. His other hand remained pressed across Gabriel’s mouth, though softer now, in a warning to continued silence. 

“Very good, my dove,” Aziraphale murmured, pleased and almost tender. “It seems you’ve learned this lesson well.” Then, a cruel twist of his mouth transformed his smile, a light of wicked inspiration in his eyes. “Let’s have a little test, shall we?” 

He leaned back a bit, carefully removed one of his gloves, and tossed it aside, before pressing his still gloved hand over Gabriel’s mouth again, malicious amusement glittering in his eyes. 

“I _do_ hope you’ve prepared well enough to pass.” 

Then, with no more warning than that, Aziraphale snapped his hips forward and thrust hard into Gabriel, dragging his ravaged body up against the wall again. 

Gabriel struggled to suppress the wordless cries that rose to his lips, though the pain would not allow him to keep fully silent. Aziraphale’s gloved hand over his mouth was a relief, assisting in muffling the quiet, desperate sounds he couldn’t quite hold back. 

But Aziraphale’s other hand was a soft terror against his skin, fingertips trailing, teasing, down Gabriel’s torso, tracing his hip, sliding down the inside of his thigh - every brush of his hand a menacing reminder as to what could happen if Gabriel dared to make a sound loud enough to draw attention. 

_As quiet as a dove… nothing that could be heard outside this room…_

Gabriel desperately strove for silence as Aziraphale continued indulging in his body, touching him wherever he liked, and fucking him with slow but forceful thrusts, seeking out his pleasure in Gabriel’s suffering until at last he finished and withdrew, his breath coming in harsh, shuddering gasps. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the cuffs released from the overhead bar, allowing Gabriel’s weary, ravaged frame to collapse in a crumpled heap at Aziraphale’s feet. 

Gabriel buried his face in his arms, aching from the strain of being suspended for so long, and tried to somehow release the deep, aching sobs that welled up in his chest… without making a sound. The terror that had held him rigid in his restraints, now melted into tremors of residual panic and relief, as he gasped for breath, trying to regain his composure. 

At the sound of Azirpahale’s footsteps headed toward the door, he lifted his head, blinking away tears to clear his vision. Aziraphale carefully, quietly opened the backroom door just a little, peering out through the crack at something that made him smile and nod once with satisfaction. He closed the door and locked it again, before crossing the room to sit down beside Gabriel, his back braced against the blood-stained wall, still breathing heavily with the after effects of his exertion. 

Aziraphale’s cool gaze made Gabriel feel incredibly self-conscious, and he lowered his head, drawing in deep gasps, still struggling to regain control of the violent trembling of his limbs, his body’s physical reaction of shock at the violation he’d just endured. Aziraphale’s voice was soft and pensive as it sliced through the stillness, making Gabriel’s stomach clench with dread. 

“Come here.” 

Gabriel glanced up at Aziraphale, uncertain as to what he wanted at this point. If he’d been standing, or sitting in the chair, Gabriel would have known to kneel at his feet. But Aziraphale’s unusually casual position left him at a loss as to what was expected of him. Unsure what to do, Gabriel just sort of shifted his position, edging closer to where Aziraphale sat, and drawing in a deep, shuddering gasp at the sharp pain caused by even such a slight motion. 

Aziraphale let out an impatient sigh, and reached out as soon as Gabriel was near enough, grasping his arm to haul him closer, then wrapping an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders and pulling him in so that he was half-sitting, half-kneeling, flush against his side. 

Gabriel couldn’t quite stifle the choked, protesting sound that escaped his lips at the sharp pain of the abrupt movement, and the rough drag of Aziraphale’s shirt sleeve against his torn, bruised back. 

“ _Shhh,_ easy _.._.” 

Aziraphale’s lips brushed against Gabriel’s shoulder, one finger idly trailing up and down the bare skin of his thigh. He tilted Gabriel’s head up just enough for their eyes to meet, his expression soft with sympathy that almost seemed genuine. 

“It’s done, now. You’ve taken your punishment well. You aren’t going to give me any reason to punish you further, are you?” 

Gabriel drew in a shuddering breath, shaking his head, still shivering. His entire body felt chilled, except for the places where the heat of Aziraphale’s touch seemed to sear his skin. His stomach rolled at the sickeningly intimate touch, though he dared not resist. He glanced toward the door with dread. 

The only thing worse than being touched like this by Aziraphale… would be _Crowley, catching_ _him_ being touched like this by Aziraphale. 

“Wh-what if he comes back?” he ventured a hoarse, pleading whisper. 

“He won’t,” Aziraphale replied simply and with absolute certainty. 

“That lock won’t stop him,” Gabriel persisted cautiously, his voice low, and his eyes carefully downcast. “If he… if he decides to come in…” 

Aziraphale’s gentle fingers hardened, digging into Gabriel’s thigh and bringing his halting objections to an abrupt and immediate halt. 

“Why don’t you just let _me_ worry about Crowley?” Aziraphale suggested, a warning edge to the soft words. “Crowley is none of your concern.” The taut line of his lips betrayed his irritation, and his icy eyes burned with anger. 

Gabriel cringed, ducking his head and going very still within Aziraphale’s softly stifling embrace. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I didn’t… mean…” 

“I bet you’d like that, if he did, wouldn’t you?” Aziraphale mused, a cold smile on his lips, his hand rising from Gabriel’s shoulder to run deceptively gentle fingers through his hair. “Would you like another opportunity to try to sway _the love of my life_ from my side, Gabriel? Even though your last attempt went so _very badly_ for you?” 

Gabriel swallowed back a desperate, despairing sob, shaking his head. “ _No_ ,” he pleaded. “No, I - don’t _want_ him to…” 

“No, I should say you don’t,” Aziraphale agreed with a warning edge, and a tight, grim smile. “If Crowley _did_ decide to miracle his way through a locked door into my private space… which he _would not do_ , I’ll have you know, because he would never betray my trust in such a way…”

Gabriel shook his head in wordless, urgent agreement, biting his lip to force himself to silence.

“ _But. If_ he did…” Aziraphale let out a deep, slow breath, watching Gabriel with an intensity that drew the archangel’s gaze, faltering and reluctant, up to his for just a moment. Only then did he continue, hushed and menacing, “Well, then I suppose _you’d_ be in a terrible lot of trouble, wouldn’t you? _Seducing_ me into something we both know Crowley has _never_ wanted to happen.” 

Gabriel's eyes shot back up to stare at Aziraphale; his breath caught in his throat. “But… I didn’t,” he choked out at last. 

“You said you would,” Aziraphale claimed with an indifferent little shrug. “You specifically said you would _tempt_ me.” 

“ _No_ ,” Gabriel insisted, pleading, his heart racing at the deceptively casual accusation. “That’s… _not_ what I said…”

“It’s what I heard,” Aziraphale countered, his piercing gaze focused on Gabriel, calculating as he watched him closely. “It’s certainly what _Crowley_ heard.” 

Gabriel’s mind raced, replaying the conversation he’d had with Crowley, a suffocating feeling of panic stealing over him, along with an inexplicable sense of _hurt_. 

“He - he told you?” 

Aziraphale let out a soft, derisive huff. “He didn’t have to.” He was quiet a moment, before adding with a knowing smirk, “But if you think he keeps any secrets from me… let alone _with you_ …” His fingers tightened abruptly in Gabriel’s hair, yanking his head back, and Gabriel bit back a startled yelp of pain. 

“I don’t,” he pleaded in a hoarse, desperate whisper. “I don’t think that, I _know_ he doesn’t…” 

Aziraphale tugged sharply, silencing Gabriel’s protest as he leaned in close to hiss low against his ear.

“ _Stop. Talking_.” 

Gabriel bit down on his lip, nodding hurriedly, his breath quickening as his panic seemed to suffocate him. 

Aziraphale remained cool and calm, his hand in Gabriel’s hair easing, his finger once again trailing a slow path up and down Gabriel’s leg. “Now, this is what I expect of you from this point onward, my dove. Are you listening closely? Because I would hate for you to _get it wrong_ , and suffer the consequences of your disobedience.” 

Gabriel nodded again, desperately. Aziraphale’s arm around him was a firm, gentle restraint; his idly intimate touch a stifling reminder of just how helpless Gabriel was in his grasp. He closed his eyes against the fearful, frustrated tears that welled there, stifling a sob, and tucked his trembling hands into the bend of his knees in a desperate bid to resist the impulse to fight, to flee, to shove Aziraphale away from him. 

“You are going to be _quiet,_ ” Aziraphale declared, hushed and sharp at the same time, his breath soft and warm against Gabriel’s ear. “I understand that _total_ silence will not always be possible, given your propensity for defiance, and the severity of discipline you often require.” He paused a moment, his voice rumbling with menace. “But if you make a _sound_ that can be heard outside this room…” His fist tightened, a tremor of rage in his words that Gabriel _felt_ all through his body. “... if you _dare_ attempt _one more time_ to manipulate Crowley’s sympathies… to use his soft heart to turn him against me with your piteous display…” He lifted his free hand to trace his finger lightly across Gabriel’s trembling lips, a soft smile on his own. “... I can find rather… _effective_ ways of silencing that troublesome mouth of yours, my dove. Permanently, if necessary. Is that something I’m going to have to do?” 

“No,” Gabriel whispered, breathless with terror, shaking his head rapidly. “No, please…” 

“I don’t want to hear you complaining, or arguing, about why you _don’t deserve_ punishment, or how you _haven’t done anything wrong_ ,” Aziraphale sneered, rolling his eyes as he lowered his hand to rest again on Gabriel’s thigh. “You will simply do as you are told. Without objection. Without resistance. You will _obey_. Won’t you?” 

Gabriel nodded. “Y-yes, sir,” he gasped. “Please, I-I will…” 

“There’s no way out of this,” Aziraphale informed him, soft and matter of fact. “No one in Heaven can help you. Crowley _won’t_ help you - even when you ask. You know that well, now, don’t you?” 

Gabriel nodded, swallowing back the despairing sob that rose up in his throat, choking him. “I - I won’t,” he gasped, shaking his head. “I won’t - do it again…”

Aziraphale grimaced with false sympathy. “He was so angry with you, last week.” He shook his head, quiet a moment. “Can you _imagine_ how angry he’d be if he knew about _this_ ? What he’d _do_ to you?” Aziraphale shrugged a little, careless, musing. “He’d be angry with me, too. But without question… it’s you he’d blame. And it’s you who’d be punished. By _both_ of us...” 

“Please,” Gabriel choked out, panic swelling up in his chest. “Please, I won’t say _anything_ , please…”

“For being a conniving, manipulative little whore…”

“I won’t - I won’t tell him, n-not - not anything…” Gabriel stammered, his voice trembling and tearful and rising with his terror. “Please, I _won’t_ …”

“ _Shhh_ .” Abruptly Aziraphale’s hand settled, a hard, heavy weight at the back of his neck, drawing him in close and pressing his head down. His voice was low and patient, quietly commanding. “I know it’s difficult,” he conceded. “I know you’re distraught right now. But you _will_ keep your voice down. Yes?” 

Gabriel nodded, tears streaking his face, and desperately raised one trembling hand, pressing the back of it against his own parted lips, struggling to silence the deep sobs that welled up in his chest. 

“ _Softly_ ,” Aziraphale reminded him, hushed and soft, his hand massaging slowly at the back of Gabriel’s neck. “Like a dove…”

Gabriel nodded again, struggling to regain control, while Aziraphale soothed him with soft, shushing sounds, and a touch that had gone gentle and reassuring once more. When at last Gabriel had managed to suppress his tears to Aziraphale’s satisfaction, Aziraphale smiled, lifting his hand to stroke his hair. 

“There we are, that’s it,” he murmured, approving. “That’s better.” 

His hand left Gabriel’s hair to slide gently down his back, and Gabriel braced himself for more suffering - but instead, the lingering pain from the hellfire lash eased, as Aziraphale healed it away. As usual, he left the hellfire burns, but there were only a few of them. Once he’d healed the torn and bleeding places where the rough brick had scraped Gabriel’s back, once he’d made the throbbing ache between Gabriel’s legs vanish into nothing, the lingering sting of a few burns was nothing. 

Gabriel’s eyes welled with tears of relief and gratitude, and he whispered out a hushed, choked, “Th-thank you…” 

All at once he froze when he felt the backs of Aziraphale’s fingertips, trailing lightly, a slow path just beneath his shoulder blades - tracing along a familiar, unsettling line that only another angel would know to touch at all - first one side, then the other. 

“Even your wings resemble a dove’s, if I recall correctly,” Aziraphale mused. 

Gabriel felt sick, terror trickling like ice down his spine. 

“I could be misremembering.” Aziraphale shrugged, calculatedly casual. “It’s been quite some centuries since I’ve seen them.” 

Gabriel kept perfectly still under his touch, barely daring to breathe - offering no protest, no resistance. 

_Oh, no, please... no, God,_ please _don’t let him…_

Aziraphale sighed and rose to his feet, at last giving Gabriel the space to breathe, to struggle to pull himself together. He tried to catch his breath, to quell the tears that flowed unbidden and unchecked down his face, though he didn’t dare rise from his knees - not until Aziraphale permitted it. 

Aziraphale brushed his hands down over his own rumpled clothing, grimacing with distaste, before snapping his fingers and instantly restoring his appearance to its usual slightly less rumpled state. Satisfied, he settled into the chair he’d created for himself, letting out a thoughtful little hum. 

“I should probably eat something,” he remarked. “The note I left for Crowley said I’d gone out to get something to eat. Hmm, what sounds good right now?” 

He miracled up a tray of fresh pastries on the end table beside his chair, selecting one with care and taking a slow bite. He frowned with vague displeasure, looking at the offending food stuff and shaking his head with a little sigh. 

“Not the same as the real thing, never quite is… but I suppose it’ll do,” he decided. He glanced at Gabriel, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “Would you like to try some?” 

Gabriel’s already unsettled stomach turned in protest at the thought. He’d never understood the appeal of eating human food; his celestial body didn’t need it for sustenance. Why introduce such a gross contamination to a heavenly form that was perfect, and functioning flawlessly? 

Just now, he felt as if his body would immediately reject anything he tried to put into it. 

He swallowed back the knot in the back of his throat, shaking his head. 

“N-no, thank you,” he said softly. 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “You know, it’s considered quite rude to refuse an offer of shared food.” 

Gabriel swallowed hard, lowering his gaze, his chest tightening with dread. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale was certainly going to insist, and Gabriel knew that he’d be sick if he did. And _then_ what would Aziraphale do to him? 

If a simple “no, thank you” was rude, then what would Aziraphale think of Gabriel’s vomiting up his generous offering all over Aziraphale’s shoes? 

Aziraphale’s sharp gaze remained focused on him for a few moments longer - until at last he shrugged and took another bite. 

“Oh, well,” he sighed. “Perhaps that’s a lesson for another day.” He gave Gabriel a secretive, sympathetic little smile. “I do believe you’ve had enough for now, haven’t you, dear?” He waved a hand imperiously in Gabriel’s direction. “Get up and get ready to go.” 

Gabriel’s knees felt weak, trembling as he obediently got to his feet and retrieved his clothing - acutely aware of Aziraphale’s shameless gaze as he sat there, enjoying his snack and watching Gabriel with idle interest as he dressed. Gabriel’s hands were shaking; he stopped for a moment, drawing in a slow breath and closing his eyes, trying to calm himself enough to at least finish buttoning his shirt. 

He opened his eyes - and his stomach lurched when he found himself face to face with Aziraphale, gazing up at Gabriel with bright, knowing eyes. 

“Crowley is not to know that you were ever here tonight,” he instructed softly, a conspiratorial smile curving up the corner of his mouth - and Gabriel’s heart sank as he added, “Or any other night that I call for you, when he is not present. Understood?” 

Gabriel nodded, his mouth dry, his heart racing. “Yes,” he whispered, then amended quickly, “Yes, sir.” 

Aziraphale studied him closely for a long, tense moment, though his smile never faltered, as he lifted a hand to gently cup Gabriel’s cheek. Gabriel stood very still and forced himself to hold Aziraphale’s gaze, and not jerk away in revulsion at the touch. At last Aziraphale nodded once in acceptance, and then a second time toward the door. 

“Very good, my dove,” he said softly. “You may go.” 

******************************************************************************************

_Well, then._ That _certainly went better than expected._

Aziraphale smiled at the sight of the empty front counter, proof that Crowley had found his note, and ascended the stairs to his apartment with a feeling of supreme satisfaction. He’d made quite a lot of progress with Gabriel that night.

He’d noticed it quite a while back - the way Gabriel looked to Crowley when he was in the room. The unspoken question in his gaze, the way he took in Crowley’s reactions, almost _visibly_ filing them away in his mind for later use. And he’d noticed Crowley’s hesitation, the clear conflict on his face when he felt that Aziraphale was being too hard on the archangel. 

He’d deliberately left them alone the previous week, after administering Gabriel’s “accidental” lesson, and miraculously enhanced his senses so that he could clearly hear them from the upstairs apartment. He’d done it in order to get a sense of how they might relate together, if left to their own devices - to gauge whether or not there was cause for concern. 

And, he’d found that there certainly was. 

Gabriel, ever the scheming manipulator, had taken the very first opportunity to attempt to turn Crowley against him, waiting until Aziraphale’s back was turned to spill details that he should have known to keep to himself. Aziraphale hadn’t expected any better from him, really. He smiled grimly to himself at the fresh mental image of Gabriel - tear-stained and shell-shocked, his eyes wide and following Aziraphale’s every move with frantic desperation to please and appease him. 

He was fairly certain: Gabriel would _not_ try going through Crowley again. 

This particular lesson had required… _restraint_ . _Cautious_ implementation of the hellfire whip, with more _creative_ means employed to ensure that Gabriel got the message, and was appropriately chastised - but _without_ doing the sort of damage that would necessitate Crowley’s involvement to heal the archangel before sending him away. 

And as for Crowley, well - Aziraphale had been touched and warmed through with reassurance to see how Crowley had reacted to Gabriel’s accusations - how swiftly and forcefully he’d _shut them down_. 

He knew that Crowley had not been exactly thrilled with him lately. 

Aziraphale had tried to go a bit easier on Gabriel, if only to please him - but Crowley still maintained a certain distance between them, a certain wary uncertainty as he watched Aziraphale too closely with eyes that were sad and injured and made him feel uneasy and self-conscious. 

But it turned out that despite their recent conflict, despite the tensions between them, Crowley, bless him, was as loyal and loving as ever, fiercely coming to Aziraphale’s defense and calling Gabriel out for the manipulative liar that he was - even if he hadn’t _actually_ been lying in this _particular_ instance. 

Of course, Crowley had then turned around and concealed that manipulation from Aziraphale - a fact which simply did not sit right with Aziraphale at all. 

Aziraphale supposed he couldn’t blame him, really. Crowley had made his disapproval for all of this clear. He felt that Aziraphale was too hard on Gabriel, anyway; and that night, after hours of suffering, Gabriel _had_ looked pretty damned pathetic. It stood to reason that Crowley would not have wanted to say anything that would have resulted in further punishment.

No matter how clearly Gabriel deserved it. 

_He_ lied _to me, though._

_To protect Gabriel._

It was still troubling to him, and Aziraphale felt that he needed to address it somehow. He just had no idea how to go about that, without revealing to Crowley that he’d been eavesdropping in the first place. It rankled under his skin, making him feel edgy and irritated - but he firmly pushed it to the back of his mind to be filed away under things to deal with _later_. 

He had more important matters at hand at the moment. 

Gabriel’s lesson, though crucial, was only one piece of his plan to put things right again between himself and Crowley, once and for all. 

Once _that_ was settled… he could find a way to address his lover’s well-intentioned betrayal.

Aziraphale paused at the top of the stairs, taking a deep, calming breath, and performing a quick miracle to _just slightly_ enhance the lingering sweet scent of the baked treats he’d just consumed. 

Crowley’s sense of smell was sharper than the average human’s, and he wanted his cover story to seem authentic. 

He found his demon curled up on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine with a somewhat tired, morose expression on his face. He gave Crowley a bright smile, sitting down on the sofa beside him and reaching out for his free hand. 

“Did you have a good time tonight, my love?” 

Crowley sighed. “Bit of an off night,” he admitted. “Guess I was… distracted.” 

Aziraphale frowned, nodding slowly and seriously. “I understand.” 

Crowley arched a brow in his direction, his expression and tone dubious. “Do you.” 

Aziraphale held his gaze, solemn and focused. “I believe I do. I know what’s been troubling you, darling, and… I have been giving it a lot of thought this evening while you were out. I’ve - I’ve come to a decision.” 

“Yeah?” 

Crowley looked away, sipping his wine again, and Aziraphale knew him well enough after 6000 years to know that he was trying to keep his guard high and his expectations low - to not be hurt or disappointed if what Aziraphale said was not what he was hoping to hear. 

Aziraphale had rehearsed it to perfection and was fairly certain that he was about to say _exactly_ what Crowley wanted to hear. He took a deep breath, and said it. 

“You’re right.” 

Crowley looked up at him, wary. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded, then sighed and shook his head, schooling his face into a regretful expression. “Truth be told, I wish we’d never started any of this with Gabriel, and… we can’t exactly _let him go_ now, unfortunately. But… I have come to the conclusion that… there’s really no need to hurt him anymore.” Encouraged by Crowley’s widening eyes, the hopeful light shining through on his face, Aziraphale continued, “No need for… physical penance or pain. Not anymore. Not unless he gives us a very specific reason for it. From now on, I intend to have him simply… check in once a week. Just to ensure there’s no shenanigans afoot in Heaven, but… no more punishments, not unless strictly necessary.” 

Crowley nodded slowly, taking that in, still cautiously guarded. “And by ‘strictly necessary’, you mean…?” 

“I mean, if he were to physically attack one of us. Or threaten to do so. If he starts making threats about bringing Heaven down on us. If I were to catch him in an outright lie, perhaps. But unless I have reason to believe that he poses an actual _danger_ to us… I have no intention of hurting him anymore.” 

Crowley blinked, eyes wide. “Really…” He was quiet for a moment, before shaking his head and repeating, stunned, “ _Really_?” 

“Really,” Aziraphale assured him, settling into the sofa and shifting close enough to Crowley to put his arm around him. 

Crowley stared at the glass in front of him for a long, pensive moment, and Aziraphale knew there was something he wanted to say, but was still formulating the words, or working up the nerve. He simply waited in silence, content that Crowley allowed his arm around him, until Crowley broke the silence. 

“There’s… something else.” 

“Yes?” Aziraphale waited, patient, expectant. 

“When he was waiting here for you, last week. He was… undressed.” 

An unsettled feeling crept into the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach, and he felt a self-conscious flush bloom in his chest; it had occurred to him only after sending Gabriel away that night, that this might be an issue that would come up. 

“Yes,” he confirmed quietly. 

“Do you _always_ make him do that? When he goes in the backroom?” Crowley asked, trying for merely curious, but with a faint tremor in his voice that gave him away. “I mean… I know you did when we summoned him, but… that was different. That was meant to be… a punishment he’d remember. I… _get_ that…” 

There was a note of reserve in his voice that told Aziraphale clearly that “getting it” and _approving_ of it were not at all the same thing. 

“But… you haven’t been doing that _every_ time, have you?” 

“Well… yes, actually,” Aziraphale admitted with a rueful sigh, reaching out to gently cover Crowley’s hand with his own. “It wasn’t… like his penance before, I swear to you, my love…” 

Crowley nodded slowly, biting his lip, frowning a little, as if braced for the worst. 

“The intention behind it was to humble him. To increase his sense of vulnerability and… remind him who was in control. To… strip him of his defenses, in a very literal sense. That’s all.” 

Crowley nodded again, thoughtful, sipping his wine, before remarking calmly, “Still fucked up.” 

Aziraphale sighed again. “Yes, my love. I agree. You’re right, Crowley, you’ve been right about everything. It’s… unnecessarily cruel. He’s been doing quite well recently, and, well… I give you my word, I won’t require that of him anymore.” 

Crowley turned to study his face with curious eyes, though Aziraphale was relieved to see his expression brightening, pleased with what he was hearing. 

“So what, may I ask, brought on this change of heart?” 

Aziraphale had an answer prepared for that question. 

“It was… the accident, last week,” he replied, putting on a sorrowful, guilty expression. “I felt terrible about it, when I really thought about it. It _was_ an accident, mind you, but… it was also most definitely _my fault_ . I set the watch for the wrong time, that’s all there was to it. And Gabriel, well - he was just so quick to completely take the blame on himself. Apologizing, and pleading - assuming I was punishing him for being late the previous week, and it just…” He let out a heavy, weary sigh, shaking his head. “It’s enough. More than enough. I - believe that he’s fully under control now, and well - I no longer _want_ to hurt him. I feel that he’s certainly intimidated enough at this point that… he would never attempt to… go behind my back and act against me.” 

Crowley shook his head. “No, don’t think he would.” 

Aziraphale felt a little sick at Crowley’s easy response. He tamped down the rising feeling of indignation he felt, and instead just pressed a little, feeling out Crowley’s reaction. 

“Does it… appear that way to you? That he’s… fully under control? You’re particularly skilled at reading people, darling. Does it appear to _you_ that he’d… attempt to scheme behind my back?” 

Crowley shook his head, taking the last sip from his glass and setting it down on the coffee table. 

“No.” 

Aziraphale felt his indignation bloom into anger. 

Crowley knew better - and he was lying to his face. Completely casual and convincing, without a trace of hesitation. Aziraphale knew that it was sort of built into Crowley’s skillset - a natural aptitude for deception, the ability to be effortlessly convincing. It had gotten Crowley out of trouble with his infernal superiors countless times, and for that Aziraphale was grateful. 

It was an entirely more hurtful and upsetting matter to have that particular set of skills turned on _him_. 

_That’s all right,_ he told himself, trying to slow his breathing and calm his agitation. _He doesn’t trust me fully yet - doesn’t believe that I wouldn’t hurt Gabriel if he told me the truth._

_But he will._

_That’s the whole point._

Aziraphale suppressed his negative feelings and maintained control. 

He was so close - _so close_ to having _everything_ just as he wanted it. 

“Well, then,” he said brightly. “It’s as I thought. The rigorous punishments can come to an end. Should have ended already, really. Last week… never should have happened. I only wish I’d listened to you sooner, my love.” And for good measure, reaching up a cautious hand to brush Crowley’s cheek, looking into his eyes with all the warmth and love he felt for him, Aziraphale repeated, “ _You_ were _right_.” 

Crowley did not withdraw from Aziraphale’s touch; he studied him closely with wide, now openly hopeful eyes. Then all at once he let out a shaky sigh of relief, lowering his head to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around him, pressing in close. 

Aziraphale realized with some alarm and concern that he was _trembling_ , and he wondered just what fears had been consuming his thoughts, that Aziraphale’s well-placed words had put to rest. 

“Thank you, angel,” Crowley whispered, his voice low and unsteady. 

Aziraphale just gently shushed him, fingers stroking through his hair, as he leaned in to softly kiss the side of his neck. 

“No, no, love,” he murmured. “Thank _you_. For helping me find my senses. I should always listen to you, Crowley, really…”

Crowley let out a soft little burst of tearful laughter. “Don’t think you’re s’posed to, really,” he reminded him. “I’m the one that got you started down this whole thing, didn’t I?” 

“Shh, shh,” Aziraphale shook his head, kissing Crowley’s throat, then his face, brushing his hair back and giving him a tender smile. “None of this is your fault, love, you tried to tell me so many times where I was going wrong.” 

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, shaking his head just a little as if barely daring to believe words he’d clearly longed to hear for quite a while. Then he buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder, his hands tight and tangled in Aziraphale’s shirt. Aziraphale just held him for a while, letting him rest in the reassurance he’d just offered, running his fingers slowly up and down Crowley’s back, hoping desperately that he was stirring within Crowley the same fiery need that he was feeling himself. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” he confessed at last, hushed and hungry against Crowley’s throat. “My love, I’ve _needed_ you… so much…”

Crowley nodded against his shoulder without lifting his head. “Me, too,” he replied, words muffled against Aziraphale’s shirt. 

There was such tremendous relief in his voice, such exhaustion, as if he’d just laid down an oppressive weight that had been bearing down on him forever. His hands loosened their grip on Aziraphale’s shirt and instead began a seeking path down his torso, until they’d crept their way under it instead. 

The electric thrill that went through Aziraphale at the contact sent a delighted little shiver down his spine. 

He drew back a little, pressing a hand to Crowley’s shoulder to push him back, insisting on meeting his gaze, and finding it wide and desperate with need. Aziraphale brushed his hair back, leaning in to kiss the side of his mouth, brushing his thumb across his demon’s parted lips as he studied him with earnest eyes. 

“Forgive me?” he whispered. 

Crowley’s golden eyes flooded with tears, and he nodded eagerly. “ _Anything_ , angel…”

Aziraphale’s own vision blurred, and he let a soft sob of relief escape his lips as he drew Crowley in close again. His mouth fell against Crowley’s shoulder, kissing a soft, slow line up his throat. He drew back, a little breathless at the feeling of familiar, soft skin under his lips once again. 

“Will you let me?” he whispered, hushed and urgent. “Please, can we…?” 

Crowley nodded, breathless, eager. 

With a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, they were no longer in the living room, but in his bedroom, lying on the bed in each other’s arms. 

Crowley performed a miracle of his own in turn that simultaneously rendered them both naked, and nestled under the soft downy comforter that had only made its way to Aziraphale’s rarely used bed once Crowley had started sleeping over. 

Aziraphale stared down at Crowley with awed eyes for a long moment, taking in the sight that had been denied him for far too long - his beloved demon, willingly bared and vulnerable, surrendering his love and his trust with his body, into Aziraphale’s hands. With tender, reverent patience, Aziraphale leaned down to kiss his mouth.

Crowley was having none of it. 

The kiss he offered in return was heated and rushed, laced with impatience bordering on desperation - and Aziraphale could certainly understand that. 

It had been _so long_. 

And he meant to take his time - to savor this longed for moment. 

He caught Crowley’s hands gently in his, intertwining their fingers and firmly pressing his demon down against the bed. Crowley glared up at him in frustration, straining against his hold, but Aziraphale just kissed the protest from his lips, leaving him too breathless to argue. 

“Slowly, darling,” he whispered, punctuating his words with a long, slow trail of kisses down the line of Crowley’s throat. “It’s been so long, I just… want to take our time… and really _feel_ this…” 

Crowley let out a low, plaintive moan, but his hands relaxed in Aziraphale’s grasp, relenting. Aziraphale slid his fingers down to circle Crowley’s wrists and draw them up over his head, clasped firmly in his hands as they began to slowly move together. 

It took just a slight, secret miracle on Aziraphale’s part to ensure that they reached completion in a shared moment - and then another, less secret miracle to replace the sheets they’d defiled with fresh, clean ones, warm and soft. Crowley settled into them with a happy little hum, shifting until he had nestled in close to Aziraphale’s chest. His arms wrapped tight around the angel, as if he simply could not get near enough, and there was unspeakable relief in his hoarse, weary whisper. 

“I thought I’d lost you.” 

“Never,” Aziraphale promised, running fingers through his hair and holding him close, brushing a soft kiss against the damp hair at Crowley’s temple. “I’m right here, love. I’m not going anywhere.” He let out a contented sigh, closing his eyes and holding on tight to what was most precious to him. “Everything is going to be all right, now.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: non-con and psychological abuse. 
> 
> Let's just assume that one applies for a while from this point, shall we? :( 
> 
> Poor, poor Gabriel.

When Crowley woke up the next morning, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. 

Waking up  _ alone _ in the bed he had shared with his angel the night before was…  _ not  _ what he had expected, and a little disquieting. The scent of fresh coffee from the kitchen was reassuring, though, and he reminded himself that Aziraphale didn’t care for sleep quite as much as he did. He was likely to have risen from the bed and gone about his business hours ago. 

It was the precise nature of that “business” that left Crowley unsettled. 

His worries were momentarily assuaged when Aziraphale entered the bedroom a few minutes later, bearing a bright, warm smile and an elegant tray laden with the tell-tale coffee, as well as several varieties of breakfast treats. He settled in close to Crowley in the bed, warm and attentive, and very much like the angel Crowley had fallen in love with. 

Crowley allowed himself to enjoy it and tried not to let his guarded optimism show. He didn’t want to discourage Aziraphale or hurt his feelings with a display of doubt - but Crowley knew. 

The true test would be Gabriel’s next visit. 

The archangel was unsurprisingly anxious when he arrived, wide eyes darting uncertainly between Aziraphale and Crowley for a moment. He swallowed hard, and gave first Aziraphale then Crowley an awkward little nod, his head lowered in deference, before heading for the backroom. 

“Gabriel, dear.” 

Aziraphale’s voice was soft and calm, but it stilled both Gabriel and Crowley where they stood. Crowley tried to keep his expression neutral and not allow it to betray his alarm. Gabriel was less able to hide his response, turning to look at Aziraphale with wary, fearful eyes, his voice hushed and hoarse. 

“Yes, sir?” 

Aziraphale gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “You needn’t undress this time. Simply kneel and wait for me.” 

Gabriel’s eyes darted to Crowley for a moment before he lowered his eyes, nodding. 

“Yes, sir,” he repeated, before disappearing into the backroom. 

Aziraphale followed a few minutes later. 

Crowley resisted the desire to follow them into the room. Aziraphale had told him on numerous occasions that he was welcome to observe. Of course, observation was likely to alter the very sorts of behavior he was concerned about, so what would be the point? 

Crowley ventured a little closer to the backroom door than he normally did, listening closely for a few minutes. He didn’t hear the sound of the whip or cane as he often had during other sessions. Aziraphale’s muffled voice filtering through the wooden door did not sound severe and accusing as it usually did, but was rather softer, patient and encouraging. 

He didn’t hear a single sound from Gabriel. 

His curiosity piqued, even as his fears were soothed, Crowley reached out toward the doorknob - but then stopped himself, sighing and turning away. If he walked into the room unannounced, that would only serve to tell Aziraphale that he did not trust him, after all - just now, when Aziraphale’s behavior really did seem to be changing for the better. 

_ Don’t be an idiot.  _ Crowley’s thoughts took on a distinctly Anathema-esque tone, flat and disbelieving.  _ You can’t know unless you see for yourself.  _

_ I  _ will  _ see for myself, _ Crowley argued with… himself.  _ As soon as the archangel walks out that door. He’s never been exactly subtle. He’s an open book. If Aziraphale’s still… crossing the line, well… I’ll be able to see it.  _

He lingered in the bookshop until the backroom door opened, no more than thirty minutes after it had closed. 

Crowley studied Gabriel closely as he exited ahead of Aziraphale - apparently uninjured. He wasn’t limping, or moving stiffly; his features weren’t taut with pain. In fact, his jaw was a little slack, his eyes wide and distant. He looked perhaps a little… stunned. Bewildered, as if he didn’t quite understand what had just happened. 

Considering what Crowley knew was his usual expectation for these visits, that was…  _ promising _ . 

“Same time next week,” Aziraphale said brightly.

Touching the ring to the watch face to reset the time, he beckoned Crowley over with his free hand, then gently took Gabriel’s wrist and lifted it for Crowley’s perusal. 

“Just to be certain,” he explained mildly. “We’ll have no more accidents.” 

Gabriel remained quiet and subdued, his eyes down, allowing both Aziraphale and Crowley to manipulate his wrist, to examine the watch as they pleased, without the slightest trace of resistance. Crowley felt a little uneasy with that, as well as the implication that Gabriel was incapable of double-checking the timer himself - but he  _ definitely _ wanted to avoid any further accidents, so he dutifully leaned in to inspect the watch face. 

He nodded, releasing Gabriel’s wrist. “Looks right.” 

“You know, the changes to our weekly procedure that I’ve just discussed with you…” 

Aziraphale’s tone was quiet and thoughtful, his gaze focused on the watch, and Crowley wasn’t sure which of them he was speaking to until Aziraphale looked up at Gabriel, level and calm. 

“... you have Crowley to thank for that.” 

Gabriel glanced up at Crowley for a moment, hesitant - then sank to his knees, reaching out for Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley held it out to him in automatic response. 

Gabriel took Crowley’s hand in both of his, pressing his forehead to it with near-reverence. 

“ _ Thank you _ .” 

Crowley swallowed hard, his face flushing, self-conscious under the weight of Aziraphale’s expectant smile. He glanced at the angel, who gave him a little nod of confirmation, as if to say,  _ “See?”  _

Crowley returned his focus to Gabriel, allowing him to clasp his hand a few moments longer than usual as he studied him closely. Gabriel was very subdued, very quiet - but he didn’t seem as frightened as usual. Perhaps just a little… confused? Lost? 

Which, Crowley supposed, made perfect sense. He’d come here expecting to be threatened, to be hurt - and instead, Aziraphale had just informed him of how very different things were going to be. 

And things  _ did _ seem to be different, from then on.

Gabriel seemed…  _ better _ in the following weeks. Calmer.

He remained submissive to Aziraphale, obedient to his orders - but he no longer seemed to be constantly riding the razor’s edge of panic. With Aziraphale, he appeared quiet and respectful - not terrified. 

He still didn’t talk to Crowley much, but Crowley felt that he was probably responsible for that. He tried not to think too much about the last real conversation he’d had with the archangel. 

The way Crowley had spoken to Gabriel. Threatened him. 

If Gabriel was afraid to talk to Crowley now, well - that was on Crowley. 

_ Seems he’s more scared of  _ you _ , now, than he is of Aziraphale.  _

_ Which is as it should be, isn’t it?  _

_ You’re the one who started all this.  _

He tried not to think about  _ that  _ too much, either. Not now that things seemed to be genuinely improving, the damage he’d caused being slowly undone. 

Whatever dark vengeful impulses Crowley’s actions had opened the door for in his angel, they seemed to have been either fulfilled, or suppressed. Aziraphale was no longer harsh and threatening with Gabriel, but rather spoke to him in a way that was warm and nurturing. He made his approval for Gabriel’s improved behavior clear in his soft, encouraging tone, and in the gentle way he touched Gabriel when there was occasion to touch him. A gentle push to direct him toward the backroom… an approving pat on his shoulder after resetting the watch to allow him to leave. 

And Gabriel responded to those physical reassurances not by flinching away as he might have before, but with visible relief and gratitude. 

Crowley sort of wished that Aziraphale just…  _ wouldn’t _ touch Gabriel. At all. 

He knew it was ridiculous to feel  _ jealous _ of the archangel, who’d never wanted this arrangement in any way, but these days Aziraphale and Gabriel almost seemed to be getting…  _ close _ . 

It made sense, Crowley told himself. They had worked closely together for thousands of years. Now that Aziraphale seemed to have worked through his anger and resentment, it was natural that he and Gabriel would have a certain…  _ familiarity _ . They had resolved their differences, and Aziraphale was helping Gabriel to understand the places where he’d gone wrong for so long. 

Encouragement from Aziraphale, and appreciation in return from Gabriel, were natural given the circumstances. 

That was all there was to it. No reason to be jealous. No reason to worry. 

No reason at all, Crowley was reminded almost nightly - as his angel couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of Crowley, these days. Crowley had taken a chance, and made the decision to move beyond Aziraphale’s mistakes and put them in their past; Aziraphale wasted no opportunity to remind Crowley how much he appreciated that - how much he wanted him. Crowley had never felt so desirable - so  _ loved _ . 

Aziraphale was himself again - the angel Crowley had fallen in love with on the wall of Eden, so many millennia ago. 

And… they were  _ them _ , again, the distance between them faded into a distant memory. 

Crowley carefully allowed himself to relax, a little at a time, and to accept that perhaps the terrible mistake he had made was finally being made right. 

*********************************************************************************************

_ “You needn’t undress this time. Simply kneel and wait for me.”  _

Gabriel had no idea what to expect when he returned to the bookshop, after Aziraphale’s “lesson”. 

He knew enough to be quiet, though. To do his best not to draw Crowley’s attention. He was caught off guard and confused by  _ Aziraphale’s _ drawing Crowley’s attention to the fact that Gabriel had been regularly undressing for their sessions. He did his best not to display any strong reaction to the instructions, and instead just nodded and offered the only response he knew to be safe. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Even so, he braced himself for the worst as the backroom door closed behind Aziraphale, and the principality crossed the room to crouch beside him, a heavy hand coming to rest at the back of his neck. 

“Very good, Gabriel. When Crowley is here, you will do just as you have done today,” he instructed softly. “Enter quietly and calmly, and come to this room. You will not undress. You will simply kneel and wait.” 

Gabriel’s relief was short-lived, as Aziraphale’s fingers dug into the back of his neck, dragging him in closer as his voice lowered in warning. 

“When you enter the bookshop, and Crowley is  _ not _ here… you will come in here and undress for me as you’ve always done. If you have some lingering pain from a punishment you’ve earned when he wasn’t here, Crowley is to see no sign of it. You’ll bear it in silence and composure.” His words took on a sharp, vicious tone as he declared, “No ridiculous  _ theatrics _ . No dramatic display to show Crowley what a poor, frightened, battered little thing you are.  _ Right _ ?” 

“R-right.”

Gabriel choked out his acceptance in a hoarse whisper. His stomach lurched; he’d already suspected it, but this was clear confirmation. 

Aziraphale meant for them to meet. Alone. Regularly. 

Completely unknown to Crowley. 

As if Gabriel’s  _ whole existence _ wasn’t already  _ enough  _ of an absolute fucking nightmare. 

_ “The changes to our weekly procedure that I’ve just discussed with you… you have Crowley to thank for that.”  _

There  _ did  _ seem to be clear changes, during that first afternoon’s very brief session. Aziraphale didn’t physically hurt Gabriel, for one. And Gabriel could safely conclude, from Aziraphale’s instructions in private, as well as his words and behavior in front of Crowley, that Crowley at least  _ believed _ this to be a permanent change. 

He thanked the demon, with no little sincerity. 

Apparently, Crowley had made his wishes clear to his partner - and he did  _ not  _ wish to see Gabriel hurt and humiliated as he had been for the past several months. Aziraphale clearly intended to at least lead Crowley to  _ believe _ that his wishes were being honored. 

And Gabriel had to admit - being spared pain and punishment  _ half _ the time he was there certainly sounded better than the alternative.

He glanced up at Aziraphale after Crowley withdrew his hand, relieved to receive a slight smile, and the barest trace of a nod. Aziraphale hadn’t specifically instructed Gabriel to thank Crowley, but Gabriel’s choice to do so seemed to meet with his approval. 

From that point on, Gabriel was required to come to the bookshop twice a week. 

On Tuesdays when Crowley was home, it wasn’t difficult to maintain the required facade - to suppress his fear response to Aziraphale, and appear calm and composed. It quickly became clear that Aziraphale did not intend to inflict any new injury on Gabriel during these visits - not when Crowley could potentially hear, or see, the results. When Crowley was there, Aziraphale was warm and encouraging. His hand on Gabriel’s shoulder was firm but gentle. Crowley’s presence meant that Gabriel would not be beaten or burned, this time. 

Crowley’s presence meant that Aziraphale had  _ something to hide _ . 

At the end of each session, Aziraphale would leave the backroom with Gabriel and reset the watch for the same time the following week, always with Crowley present to confirm that it was accurate. Then, Gabriel would be sent away, with soft, encouraging words and a warm smile. 

Most weeks, he hadn’t even made it back to Heaven before the countdown changed. 

Every time, his new,  _ private _ appointment with Aziraphale would be set for Saturday night - Crowley’s book club night, when Aziraphale could be sure that they would be uninterrupted. When he could know with certainty that he could do as he pleased with Gabriel - hurt him as mercilessly as he desired, without fear of anyone hearing him scream. 

Not that Gabriel was actually  _ allowed _ to scream. 

“This is very important training for you, my dove,” Aziraphale informed him with cruel patience as he tore into his back with the whip, or slammed him down over his desk, or into the wall, to violate him. “You’re learning to accept your due punishment in quiet humility, without complaint. You’re learning self-control… while learning beyond all doubt that you are most definitely  _ not...  _ in control.” 

Aziraphale was in complete control. 

Aziraphale  _ decided. Everything _ . 

How many whiplashes to deliver. Whether he’d leave Gabriel strung up by his wrists in the burning hellfire cuffs for hours after a beating, or let him down and heal him right away. Not so much  _ if  _ he was going to fuck Gabriel - because he nearly  _ always _ fucked him - but rather  _ how _ exactly he wanted to have Gabriel  _ this time _ . 

Down on the floor on his knees, with his cuffed hands locked to the floor in front of him; with his face crushed against the wall, or his torn back raked against the rough brick while Aziraphale drove into him, eyes alight with cruel pleasure at the pain on Gabriel’s face; down on his stomach over the desk, so that Aziraphale could trace the lashes from the whip with his own hand, digging his nails into torn, tender flesh and dragging choked, involuntary cries from Gabriel’s lips. 

Just so that he could relish having an excuse to punish them. 

A whimper barely allowed passage through sore, bitten lips… a soft, breathless sob that he muffled against his arm - these, Gabriel was allowed. 

Anything louder or sharper - anything that might have been heard, had there been anyone outside the room to hear him - earned brutal retaliation. If he cried out at the rough drag of Aziraphale’s nails against his back, he’d be ruthlessly silenced by Aziraphale’s fist across his face, or worse. 

When the pain was simply too much and he’d instinctively kick or struggle, Aziraphale would take the cane and apply it to the offending limb until Gabriel was no longer physically able to move it - no longer able to do anything but sob out quietly desperate pleas for forgiveness. 

If Aziraphale was in a particularly vicious mood, he’d even be punished for that. 

He was only allowed his voice at all if Aziraphale permitted it. 

And… Aziraphale preferred him  _ quiet _ . 

Aziraphale would always heal the worst of the damage he’d inflicted before sending Gabriel away, leaving just a few marks as a reminder - but nothing that Gabriel couldn’t easily conceal under his clothing a few days later when he’d return for his regular Tuesday appointment. 

And Gabriel swiftly found that, although he could be certain that no new injury would be inflicted on him on Tuesdays - they were by no means any more pleasant. 

Gabriel had come to hate the sight of the soft, deep red rug which Aziraphale had arranged on the floor next to his chair. He would have Gabriel kneel, fully dressed, at his side - close enough to reach out and touch, while he’d read from his books and talk quietly to Gabriel about his expectations - about how he wanted Gabriel to behave. 

“You  _ deserve _ this,” he’d explain with soft patience, gentle fingers rubbing slowly at Gabriel’s scalp as if to massage away the sting of the words. “Your foolish arrogance is being corrected.”

As he’d speak, Aziraphale’s hand would drift down from Gabriel’s hair, in idle, seemingly innocuous contact that left Gabriel shivering with dread. He’d usually start by brushing a finger lightly across the scar over Gabriel’s heart, where the hellfire blade had burned him. Then he’d move on to more recent, fresher injuries - the burns left behind during the previous private session. 

“You’ve mercifully been given an opportunity to make up for your failures,” he informed Gabriel while drawing his fingertips across the raw, reddened flesh, then pressing harder, shifting in closer, his voice hushed and intimate. “In my eyes, and the eyes of all those you’ve abused and oppressed...” He dug his fingers in deeper then, nodding in approval when Gabriel choked back a pained cry and remained perfectly still under the touch. “In  _ Her _ eyes…”: 

Gabriel’s eyes stung with tears that he blinked away; he wrapped his arms around his torso and resisted the urge to pull away from Aziraphale’s invasive hands. 

He knew better than to dare to make a sound - to fail Aziraphale’s latest test of his “lessons”. 

_ Quiet as a dove. Crowley’s in the next room. If he hears you, you’ll be sorry… _

“We’ve all always wondered why She ever chose you at all.” Aziraphale spoke with the hushed tone of a confession, words crueler than his grasping hands, digging into the tender, aching places in Gabriel’s soul - finding the weak, hurting places and twisting in deep. “Perhaps simply to prove that She can make use of even the unworthiest of vessels?” he mused with a cold smile, and a derisive huff of laughter. “Such a  _ ridiculous _ spectacle you’ve always made, of  _ every _ message you’ve delivered! Drawing so much  _ attention _ to yourself  _ all the time _ \- but, trust me, my dear…” He grimaced, shaking his head a little in false sympathy. “... it was  _ not _ all  _ good _ attention. You thought we  _ respected _ you? It was laughable - your pompous self-importance. We simply gave you what you wanted in the hopes that you’d just…  _ shut up _ .” 

He’d put his arm around Gabriel then, raising his fingers to trail gently through his hair, leaning in close to speak with soft affection. 

“But you’re learning to do that now, aren’t you, my dove?” 

Aziraphale resumed requiring a form of confession from Gabriel. 

“I’m a selfish, vain creature.” 

“I’m... a selfish, vain creature.” He grit his teeth, fighting to suppress the frustrated resentment he felt at being forced to echo back Aziraphale’s harshest judgments of him.

Aziraphale smirked, nodding in satisfaction, and continued, “I’m a manipulative little liar, and I deserve to suffer for my failings.” 

Gabriel’s face burned with shame. “I’m a… manipulative liar who… deserves to suffer.” 

Aziraphale’s mouth twisted with displeasure at the slight alteration, and Gabriel flinched as Aziraphale leaned in closer, his hand heavy at the back of Gabriel’s neck. His lips were inches from Gabriel’s ear, his words hushed and private, tinged with disgust. 

“I am unworthy to have been called Her servant.”

Gabriel felt the words like a blow to his chest, tears stinging his eyes, as he swallowed back a sob. 

Aziraphale’s hand at his neck pressed down hard, his words carrying a warning edge as he repeated them again, firm and demanding. 

“I am  _ unworthy _ … to have been called...  _ Her servant _ .”

“I’m - I’m unworthy,” Gabriel choked out, tears spilling down his face, shame burning in every part of him, the words searing his heart with the deep down conviction he felt of their truth. “To have… ever been called… Her servant.” 

It  _ had _ to be true -  _ didn’t it? _ \- if She found him deserving of  _ this?  _

Aziraphale’s grip eased, his hand softening into a soothing caress, his tone quiet and gentle. 

“ _ Again _ .” 

“I’m unworthy,” Gabriel wept. The words came soft and humble now, spilling from his lips more easily than the first time. “To have ever been called Her servant.” 

He had failed Her. Somehow, he must have, though he hadn’t realized it until it was too late.

Until She’d already turned Her back on him. 

But… Aziraphale said that he could attain mercy, through the sacrifice of his suffering. It didn’t make sense to him - but what did he know of books? Nothing, compared to Aziraphale’s extensive study. Maybe Aziraphale was right. Maybe there was some hope in obedience. If he could do what Aziraphale said - accept his punishment with meekness and humility, then - maybe, eventually… 

_ Aziraphale _ would  _ never  _ decide that it was enough. Gabriel knew better than to hope in that. 

But… perhaps  _ She _ would? 

So he didn’t argue or fight, or make any further attempt to alert Crowley to what was going on behind his back. Crowley had no idea of the worst of it now - and if he did, Gabriel knew that the worst would be  _ even worse _ . He didn’t want to anger Crowley - or worse, anger  _ Aziraphale _ by letting something slip in front of Crowley. So he kept his composure on Tuesdays, and did his best to give Crowley the impression that he was not in pain or distress. 

And on Saturdays, when Crowley was gone, he gave Aziraphale… everything else. 

He could take it. He could do what was expected of him, for as long as it was expected of him. He was well aware that it could have been  _ so much worse _ . 

It was only two days out of every week. 

The other five days, Gabriel found that he had mostly to himself. Ever since he’d told the other archangels just exactly what he thought of their ideas about going after the dangerous traitors,  _ again _ \- they mostly kept their distance, leaving him to his own devices. 

And… he was more or less all right with that. 

It made it easier to hide the effects of the new, exhausting routine that left him feeling constantly on the edge of total collapse. 

Angels came to him with much less frequency, and though he wondered with some vague concern why that might be - if Michael was reassigning work that would have been his to the other archangels, or addressing queries that should have come to him herself instead - mostly, Gabriel was just relieved to be left alone. 

He spent a lot of time in his office, with the door locked, quietly working through the sort of menial paperwork that would have felt beneath him, before - but at least it was work he could do on his own, without having to interact with other angels - without having to pretend he was okay. 

Other times he spent taking solace in the shower he’d created for himself. He knew enough to make it disappear during the rare times when someone else was in his office, well aware that it was an unusual thing to have in  _ any _ office. But he kept it, and used it with some frequency. 

The better he learned the lesson of silence, the more clearly Aziraphale’s words echoed in Gabriel’s thoughts - a constant reminder of his every shortcoming, every failure. A persistent commentary on his daily routine, scathing taunts and criticisms consistently declaring what he was doing wrong, at all times. 

The only times it ever seemed to  _ stop _ was under the heated spray of his miracled shower. 

It didn’t make him feel any cleaner. 

No matter how long he stood there, how much he allowed the clean water to pour over his body, he could  _ always _ feel the ghost of Aziraphale’s touch on his skin. When he closed his eyes, his mind would inevitably wander back to the bookshop, tormenting him with either recent, vivid memory, or fearful anticipation of the  _ next time _ . 

The soft, rhythmic sound of the hot water beating down… the pounding pressure, stinging and soothing at the same time against the lingering bruises left from his latest punishment… the fresh, clean scent of the steam surrounding him as he breathed it in - it was hypnotic in a way, and it calmed him. While he stood there, for just a little while, it seemed as if his troubled thoughts would simply -  _ turn off _ . 

They abruptly turned on again one Thursday afternoon just as he was stepping out of the shower, when he glanced down at the watch, alarmed to see that it had abruptly changed. 

All at once, inexplicably, he had only twenty minutes to get to the bookshop. 

The elevator ride down to Earth was usually around  _ fifteen minutes long _ . 

His heart clenched with panic, Gabriel snapped his fingers to transport himself to the elevator - then waited anxiously for it to arrive. Someone else was already using it. He tapped his foot impatiently, arms crossed, as crushing terror began to tighten in his chest. 

He wasn’t going to make it. 

By the time he managed to board the elevator, he had sixteen minutes left. He watched the time, despairing, as the minutes ticked down to ten, then began to count seconds as well, as the watch began to warm. The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out onto the surface of the Earth, just as the timer read  **_00:02:00_ ** \- and then abruptly changed again. 

**_02:02:00._ **

Gabriel got back onto the elevator and headed back toward Heaven, wondering at what had just happened. He knew better than to show up at the bookshop anyway. The abrupt change back made it clear that Aziraphale did not want him there right now, after all. 

_ Maybe Crowley came home unexpectedly, _ he reasoned, though his heart sank at the idea that Aziraphale had called for him at all, on a day besides their usual meeting times.  _ He could call you anytime,  _ he reminded himself, a cold clutching dread settling in the pit of his stomach.  _ There’s nothing you can do about it. Anytime he decides he wants you there…  _

_ You’re lucky Crowley doesn’t seem to get out much.  _

It happened several more times, always on Thursdays - the times he was allowed to reach the bookshop varying - 30 minutes, 20 minutes, 15 minutes exactly - but each time, the timer would revert to the normal, expected time almost exactly when he’d set foot on Earth. 

Eventually, he decided that Aziraphale was just fucking with him. Azirphale had made it perfectly clear how much he enjoyed Gabriel’s suffering; this was just a new way to torment him without touching him. To make him sweat… to make him run. 

To remind him that he was at Aziraphale’s mercy, and Aziraphale could call on him any time he liked. 

What Aziraphale  _ didn’t  _ actually want was for Gabriel to actually  _ show up _ \- since he set the clock back every time before it reached  **_00:00:00_ ** . 

The next time the clock changed, on a quiet Thursday evening, to allow Gabriel a mere 18 minutes to reach Earth, he drew in a sharp breath and rose to his feet behind his desk - then stopped, staring down at it for a long moment, before slowly sitting back down. 

His heart raced with apprehension. 

_ If you’re wrong about this, you’ll pay for it.  _

_ If you’re wrong, and the watch goes off in 18 minutes, you won’t be able to get to Earth for at least 15 - and that’s assuming you’re capable of getting yourself to the elevator at all.  _

_ At least 15 minutes of suffering while that watch goes off - and that’s  _ before  _ you get to Aziraphale, who will be  _ really fucking pissed _ , if he actually wanted you there. _

But… Gabriel was pretty sure he didn’t. 

He sat at his desk, staring at the watch as the minutes, then seconds, ticked down. When it reached the one-minute mark, his stomach churned, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow, his heart racing with panic. 

_ Idiot. You should have gone. It’s too late now, and you should have gone when he called you. It’s going to go off, and you’re going to be fucked, all because you didn’t… _

Abruptly the timer stopped at  **_00:00:30_ ** \- and then abruptly changed again, returning to show the two remaining days Gabriel had left. 

Well.

That was that. 

Aziraphale just liked to fuck with him. Liked scaring the shit out of him, and had no idea how predictable he was. 

_ Every single fucking Thursday - like clockwork.  _

Gabriel was barely concerned the following Thursday, when the watch abruptly informed him that he had 30 minutes. He glanced at it a bit uneasily, but was able to more or less ignore it. 

Gabriel had work to do. There were some celestial records he’d been meaning to review, and he wasn’t going to waste his time running around in panic for Aziraphale’s amusement, just to be turned back at the last second. 

He considered asking some lower level angel to retrieve the records for him. 

_ Because the task is beneath you, is it? You’re so much better than them all… _

Gabriel decided to just go get them himself. It was easier than facing the curious looks he got these days, almost anytime he encountered another angel, most of whom seemed to be as confused by his appearance as by his general absence. He could simply miracle himself there and back without so much as unlocking his office door. 

And Celestial Records was… quiet. All but deserted most of the time. 

Yes, much easier to just go get the records himself. 

Gabriel lingered a while in the records room, just pacing the shelves and enjoying the quiet. As he’d expected, no one else was there, and it felt good just to enjoy a bit of physical movement, in a place that wasn’t the same boring walls of his own office. 

He missed his regular Earthly jogs.

It had been some time since he’d ventured to Earth for any purpose that wasn’t meeting Aziraphale’s demands. The last time he’d gone for a jog, he’d been unable to stop worrying the entire time. Did Aziraphale know he was there? Would he disapprove of the activity, call it a selfish indulgence… use it as another excuse for punishment? 

In the end, the physical satisfaction had not felt worth the strain of the anxiety. 

Gabriel hadn’t gone jogging in months. 

It felt good to be out of his office and moving, even if the exercise level was a fair bit less than what he was used to. He lingered a while, taking his time, until he’d found the records he wanted. Then with a sigh, he snapped his fingers, a quick miracle returning him to the secluded interior of his office. 

Where Aziraphale was  _ sitting behind his desk _ , looking up at him. His eyes glittered with malicious amusement, as he looked Gabriel up and down, his gaze glancing off the files in Gabriel’s hand before meeting his eyes with a bemused smile. 

“You weren’t even going to  _ try _ , were you?” 

Gabriel’s mouth felt dry as sandpaper. “I was,” he choked out. “The - the elevator only takes 15 minutes. I had time. I still had time to get there, I - I would have made it, you didn’t have to come here to…” 

“That watch dictates  _ your _ actions.” Aziraphale cut him off with quiet severity, his smile vanishing in an instant. “It does  _ not _ dictate when and where I may have access to you.” 

Gabriel swallowed hard. “No, sir,” he conceded in a hoarse whisper, his eyes darting down to the watch on his wrist. 

**_00:20:00..._ **

“That’s quite a thick stack of files you have there,” Aziraphale observed. “Appears to be…  _ hours’ _ worth of work.” 

“I was going to come,” Gabriel insisted, his voice trembling dangerously. “I was, I swear…”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale’s expression was dubious. “Like last time?” 

Gabriel froze, staring at Aziraphale in trapped silence. 

_ He knows.  _

“Interesting thing, this ring…” Aziraphale lifted his hand to admire it. “It’s very much…  _ connected _ … with that watch you’re wearing. I may not always know precisely where you are, but  _ it _ always knows where  _ the watch _ is.” He smiled up at Gabriel, deceptively mild. “All I had to do was ask it nicely to tell me. That’s all you have to do with most things, really.” He shrugged, his smile vanishing into angry accusation. “And you were  _ nowhere near  _ Earth when I set the clock back last Thursday. Were you?” 

“I just… I didn’t notice that it’d changed,” Gabriel struggled to find a convincing explanation. “Not until it was - too late to get there on time…” 

“Come here.” 

Aziraphale’s tone was sharp and commanding, and Gabriel’s stomach clenched with dread. He nodded quickly, drawing in an unsteady breath before crossing the room to Aziraphale. He carefully set the stack of files down on his desk, and then knelt in front of Aziraphale. His eyes fell on the countdown again. 

**_00:18:00…_ **

Though his heart sank, and he held little hope, Gabriel lowered his head and carefully lifted his hand up toward Aziraphale. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Please make it stop. Please, you have to believe me…”

“I don’t  _ have _ to do  _ anything  _ you tell me to do,” Aziraphale cut him off, cold and soft. “Ever again. Do I?” 

Gabriel’s mind flashed back to a vivid memory of sitting exactly where Aziraphale was seated now - glaring at a nervous, fidgeting version of Aziraphale that seemed like a laughable imagination now. But it had once been reality. He clearly remembered taking a certain amount of satisfaction in the principality’s anxiety, as he’d berated him for some shortcoming or another. 

He couldn’t look at Aziraphale, as he shook his head, lowering his wrist to rest against his knee in quiet defeat. 

“No, sir.” 

Gabriel glanced anxiously out the window at the currently empty hallway. No one was there right at that moment - to see Aziraphale there sitting in his chair, to see him kneeling before Aziraphale, subject to his desires. 

But that could change in a single instant. 

Aziraphale seemed utterly unconcerned with the prospect of being seen, as he casually inspected the objects on Gabriel’s desk, picking up the top file from the stack and leafing idly through it before tossing it down in exaggerated boredom. His attention seemed to be drawn more closely to a bright, sparkling gold pen Gabriel had recently been using. Aziraphale picked it up, turning it over and over in his hand, smiling as it caught the light. 

“What is the purpose of all this…  _ stuff _ ?” he mused with an impatient sigh, tapping the pen against the desk as he glared down at Gabriel and shook his head in disapproval. “I seem to recall your treating my affinity for Earthly things with such disdain. So… why is your Heavenly office designed to resemble that of the wealthiest, most extravagant humans on Earth?” 

“I just… thought that’s what… an office was supposed to look like,” Gabriel mumbled, flushed with self-conscious shame, glancing uneasily toward the window again. He was acutely, overwhelmingly aware of how he was positioned directly in front of it - in plain view of anyone who might pass by outside. 

He flinched when Aziraphale’s hand came to rest on his cheek, firmly turning his face back toward him, eyes sharp over a cruel smile. 

“You haven’t much time before that watch runs out,” he reminded Gabriel. “Don’t you think you’d be better served focusing your attentions on what I think, rather than what they might think of you?” 

A shiver slid down Gabriel’s spine, and he nodded shakily. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. 

Was there still  _ any chance _ that Aziraphale might actually stop the countdown without allowing the watch to punish him? He desperately clung to the faint hope of the suggestion in Aziraphale’s words. 

“Still so concerned with how Heaven sees you,” Aziraphale sighed. “Though at the moment, it doesn’t seem they’re thinking of you much at all, does it? No one’s walked down that hallway since I’ve arrived.” His brow creased in a thoughtful frown. “And since when does the almighty archangel go and fetch his own records? Don’t you have staff to take care of tasks like that?” 

Gabriel nodded. “I - I thought I should - start doing things like that myself. I’m - not above them, not above - anyone, so - so I should do more things for myself.” 

“Hmm.” Aziraphale nodded slowly with apparent approval. “And yet… you’re still so worried that someone just  _ might  _ walk down that hallway, and  _ might  _ happen to turn their eyes this way, and see you - on your knees, abased and humbled. Performing your own menial tasks is one thing, but  _ that _ simply wouldn’t do, would it? Goodness no, you have a certain  _ image _ to uphold.” He leaned in close, his thumb brushing across Gabriel’s trembling lips as he spoke, hushed and intimate, so near that Gabriel could feel the heat of his breath against his face. 

“I much prefer  _ this _ image on you, my dove. It’s quite becoming.” 

He leaned back a little, his fingers shifting to idly handle the collar of Gabriel’s shirt, smoothing out wrinkles that Gabriel knew were imaginary. His gaze lingered on Gabriel, eyes drifting lazily down the length of his body in a way that made Gabriel’s skin burn. 

“You did always tell me that I should be focusing my attention on  _ eternal  _ beauty, rather than the beautiful things of Earth - beautiful things, meant to burn. Didn’t you?” He tilted Gabriel’s face up toward his, and Gabriel swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his face flushed at the unsettling hunger in Aziraphale’s eyes. “And… I suppose I have, haven’t I? You’ve certainly got my attention.” 

Gabriel shuddered.

He didn’t want it. 

“But the world  _ didn’t  _ burn,” Aziraphale pointed out, letting his hand fall from Gabriel’s face as he leaned back in the chair, shaking his head a little as if to shake himself out of some dark reverie. “I never believed that it would. You were wrong. About so many, many things.” He abruptly rose to his feet, and Gabriel cringed a little, braced for some form of violent suffering. “No matter,” Aziraphale sighed. “All is being put to rights  _ now _ , isn’t it?” 

Gabriel remained where he was, though his anxiety was amplified when Aziraphale walked away from him. He looked down at the watch again - down to just under 15 minutes - and then up at Aziraphale, tracking his movements nervously. 

Aziraphale stopped short all at once, hands folded behind his back, and let out a startled little laugh - and Gabriel realized with embarrassment that his shower was still in place from the last time he’d used it - hours before Aziraphale’s arrival. 

“Well, I can tell you this, my sweet, silly little dove,” Aziraphale smirked. “ _ This _ is certainly not what a human office is supposed to look like.” He turned his head to either side, surveying the entire room with a puzzled frown, then turned to face Gabriel with a curious look. 

“Do you still have your extensive collection of ties, Gabriel?” 

Panic seized Gabriel, and he blurted out a desperate, pleading response. “I don’t wear them anymore, ever, I swear,  _ please _ …”

Aziraphale sighed with exaggerated patience, then leaned down to meet Gabriel’s eyes, his gaze as solemn and warning as his low, measured words. 

“That is  _ not _ … what I  _ asked _ you.” 

Gabriel drew in a shuddering breath and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he confessed, guilty and ashamed. “I - still have them.” 

“Still holding onto your vanity, aren’t you?” Aziraphale nodded, knowing and unsurprised. “Still holding back…”

“No,” Gabriel protested. “I’m not, I just…”

“Where do you keep them?” 

Gabriel hesitated - but what did it really matter what Aziraphale did with possessions he hadn’t touched in months, and wasn’t likely to ever wear again? Gabriel’s fear of Aziraphale’s impatience shifting into anger far outweighed his reluctance. He lifted one trembling hand and snapped his fingers, and an ornate, polished wooden wardrobe appeared against the wall nearest the shower. 

Aziraphale laughed, surprised and amused. 

“Do you just…  _ live _ here?” he asked, cruelly teasing. “You don’t have a - a  _ home _ ?” 

Gabriel felt small and foolish. He ventured a quiet, uncertain answer. “Heaven is my home.” 

Aziraphale scoffed, and the sound stung, even before he replied flatly, “Is it.” 

He opened the wardrobe and started idly going through Gabriel’s things - possessions Gabriel hadn’t touched in months. Gabriel wasn’t too terribly concerned with the invasion of his privacy; his focus was locked onto the countdown clock - steadily ticking downward from 13 minutes. 

“Let me guess,” Aziraphale said, drawing a tie out of the wardrobe and holding it up for Gabriel to see. “This one is your favorite.” 

He was holding a tie in a vibrant checkerboard pattern of various shades of purple. 

Gabriel looked away. “Not that one,” he confessed softly. “The one next to it.” 

Aziraphale took it out, holding it up with an admiring smile as he shifted the deep royal purple fabric to make it shimmer in the light. “Ah, yes. That’s what I thought.” His voice was quiet but hard as he turned his cold gaze on Gabriel. “I was wondering if you’d lie to me again.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched. He couldn’t take his eyes off the clock. 

**_00:11:57…_ **

“Please, I - I’m sorry…”

Aziraphale ignored him, running his fingers appreciatively over the delicate silk. 

“Such a hopeless little hypocrite, aren’t you?” he mused. “The only human things worth possessing are the ones that appeal to  _ you _ , is that it? The ones that make you appear more impressive, more powerful - only no one’s really looking at you at all, now, are they?” he sneered. “No one seems to be paying any attention…”

Gabriel looked down at the watch again, swallowing hard - and was therefore completely caught off guard when Aziraphale swiftly closed the distance between them, reaching out with the shimmering purple tie to wrap it firmly across Gabriel’s eyes. 

He instinctively pulled away with a sharp little gasp, one hand rising to grasp Aziraphale’s wrist. 

Aziraphale turned out of his hold easily, catching his wrist instead, his other hand twisting the ends of the tie tightly behind Gabriel’s head and jerking him in closer with a warning snarl. 

“ _ Do not _ fight me.” 

Gabriel froze, lifting his other hand in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry…” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, before relenting enough to release his hold on Gabriel’s wrist, both hands working at the back of Gabriel’s head to fasten the tie and pull it tight, leaving Gabriel blind. Gabriel flinched but dared not pull away when he felt Aziraphale’s hand, firm and soft as it cupped his jaw, his voice gentle and leading against his ear. 

“That watch is simply too distracting, isn’t it?” he observed with false sympathy. “Do you think this will help you to focus?” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel insisted, his mind racing as he tried to imagine what time the watch likely read now. “Please, I’m sorry, please don’t let it…” 

His words broke off in a startled gasp of alarm when Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and all at once Gabriel found himself completely naked. Instinctively he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers too, performing a small miracle of his own - no resistance, no attempt to undo Aziraphale’s miracle and put his clothing back on - just a simple obscuring miracle, a cloud of fog before the window to prevent anyone from seeing inside. 

“Bit shy, are we?” Aziraphale laughed, low and suggestive. Then he roughly seized Gabriel’s wrist again, jerking it up between them and shaking him. “ _ No _ ,” he snapped. 

Gabriel felt sick at the thought of anyone seeing him like this, but he knew what Aziraphale wanted from him. Didn’t  _ want _ to know what the consequences might be, if he didn’t give it to him. Defeated, he snapped his fingers again to undo the miracle he’d just done and clear the window again. 

“There we are, that’s better,” Aziraphale said, his tone somewhat softened with approval, though still stern as he commanded, “No more presumptuous, self-serving miracles in my presence, Gabriel. You will ask my permission first before using your power.” 

Gabriel nodded, drawing in an unsteady breath. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. 

“If you wanted privacy, then you should have come when you were called. We’d be at the bookshop instead of here, then, wouldn’t we?” 

Gabriel nodded, tears of shame burning his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he repeated.

“Instead, you ignored me completely.” Aziraphale’s tone was sharp and angry. “You defied my wishes, and prioritized paperwork over penance.” 

A harsh slap came out of nowhere, rocking Gabriel to the side, and his hand flew up to his cheek. His breath quickened with alarm as Aziraphale grabbed his hair and jerked him in close, his voice low and menacing. 

“ _ You lied to me _ .” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel repeated helplessly, as Aziraphale released his grip on his hair to firmly pull Gabriel’s hand down from his face, replacing it with his own in a parody of comfort. “Please, I’m so sorry…” 

“ _ Shh _ ,” Aziraphale soothed him, then let out a heavy sigh. “Really, my dear… your endless pleading is getting you nowhere. You’d do better to focus on the issue at hand,” he advised, tilting Gabriel’s head up and leaning in close. “Which is that you have just under ten minutes, now, in which to  _ prove  _ to me how sorry you actually are.” 

Gabriel felt a rush of panic as he realized that indeed, the metal against his wrist had started to grow warm. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Please, I’m so sorry, I’ll come next time when you call me, I’ll come right away, I just - I just thought…”

“Gabriel,  _ please _ ,” Aziraphale sighed wearily, and Gabriel could almost  _ hear _ him rolling his eyes in frustration. “When are you going to get it through your head? The endless, endless  _ talking _ ...” He leaned in so close that his lips brushed Gabriel’s ear, curved up in a sly smile as he spoke, hushed and secretive. “That is my _ least _ favorite thing for you to do with your mouth.” 

Gabriel felt sick as understanding dawned, but he nodded in acceptance. 

It could be worse. It could be  _ so much worse _ . 

He shuffled awkwardly closer to Aziraphale, faltering a little as his hands reached out and found Aziraphale’s thighs. He withdrew immediately with alarm, but Aziraphale firmly caught his hands and placed them back against his legs, allowing him to steady himself that way. 

“Here, let me help you, my dear…” Aziraphale’s hand settled against the back of Gabriel’s head and drew him firmly in, guiding him in the right direction. “There… there we are…”

Aziraphale was already hard before Gabriel took him into his mouth, and Gabriel could feel him responding quickly as he set to work, employing all the techniques he had learned over the past few months that Aziraphale most enjoyed. Encouraged by the quickening of Aziraphale’s breath, the way his hand trembled even as it tightened in Gabriel’s hair, Gabriel yielded readily as Aziraphale pulled him in closer, thrusting up into his mouth with increasing force. 

It hurt a bit, and it choked him, but Gabriel was more desperate to please Aziraphale than he’d ever been. 

He knew he was running out of time. 

Whoever might have been watching outside his office, they ceased to be of any concern to Gabriel. The shame he’d felt subsided, as he submitted, letting any trace of remaining resistance melt away. 

The only thing that mattered right now was  _ Aziraphale _ . _ Pleasing Aziraphale. _

Aziraphale was the one who decided what happened to him. Aziraphale was the one who could literally destroy him with a single breath. 

Aziraphale was the only one who could stop the clock before it reached  **_00:00:00_ ** **.**

At last Aziraphale reached completion, his trembling fist tangled tight in Gabriel’s hair and holding him in place until he’d swallowed every last drop. When Aziraphale finally released him, Gabriel gasped for breath, fighting back his body’s urge to reject what he’d just consumed. He shivered at the gentle touch of Aziraphale’s hand in his hair, soothing away the sting in his abused scalp. 

Aziraphale’s voice was breathless, but mild and encouraging. 

“There, you see?” he remarked as he removed the makeshift blindfold from Gabriel’s eyes and set it on the desk. “You didn’t even think about who might be watching at all just then, did you?” 

It was more or less true, Gabriel realized distantly, glancing toward the window, clear and exposed, but still without a single soul in sight - something he assumed would  _ not  _ be the case if anyone had actually witnessed the spectacle they must have made. 

He didn’t really care right now who saw. 

All he cared about was making sure that the watch locked onto his wrist  _ did not go off _ . 

“How much… how much time is left?” he asked, hoarse and choked. 

He tried to look down at his wrist, blinking to clear his vision as his eyes adjusted to the light. But Aziraphale immediately cupped his face in both of his hands, firmly holding his head up and enforcing eye contact, ignoring his question. 

“You’ve done well, Gabriel,” he assured him with a warm smile. “You’ve succeeded in showing me that you’re truly sorry, within the allotted time.” His smile faded into an expression that was sad and sympathetic, and Gabriel’s heart sank. “What I have  _ not  _ seen is any sort of evidence that this won’t happen again. In fact, I’m quite certain that if I allow this infraction to go unpunished, it  _ will  _ happen again. And I do us both a disservice if I don’t ensure that it doesn’t.” 

Gabriel shook his head, just barely daring to resist Aziraphale’s hands on his face, hot tears welling in his eyes. 

“Please,” he gasped out, forcing back a sob. “Please don’t let it… I’m  _ so sorry _ …”

“I know you are, my dear,” Aziraphale admitted softly, regretfully, holding Gabriel’s chin up with one hand and brushing the other gently through his hair. “And punishment will serve to remind you not to make the same mistake again.” 

“ _ Please _ ,” Gabriel whispered, his eyes wide and panicked as he tried to look down at the watch - tried to lift his hand to within his line of sight. 

Aziraphale grasped his wrist and held it down beside the chair with one hand, the other firmly grasping Gabriel’s hair and pushing his head down onto his lap, his face between Aziraphale’s knees. Gabriel tried to lift his head, struggling as much as he dared, pushing against Aziraphale’s legs. Aziraphale just held him firmly in place - one arm across the back of his neck, pinning him, the other hand stroking through his hair, soothing him, his terrified cries muffled against the coarse fabric of Aziraphale’s trousers. 

“Shh, quiet, my dove… that’s it, that’s better…”

Gabriel’s hands clenched into frustrated fists against Aziraphale’s legs, though he didn’t dare to truly struggle or fight to free himself. He just shook his head against Aziraphale’s lap, sobbing, desperate words pressed into silence by the gentle force of Aziraphale’s hands. 

“ _ Please… please… please _ …” 

Aziraphale remained unmoved by his soft cries, though his words were gentle and soothing. “There we are, almost time…” His hand tightened in Gabriel’s hair for a moment in warning, though his voice remained soft and sympathetic. “Remember to be  _ quiet, _ my dove…” 

Gabriel shook his head, gasping for breath, feeling panicked, suffocated against Aziraphale’s lap. “Please don’t, please don’t let it…” 

Aziraphale just stroked his hair, his quiet words causing Gabriel’s chest to seize up with terror. 

“ _ Five… four… three _ …” 

By the time the watch went off, Gabriel had readied himself to keep silent. He couldn’t quite stifle his cry at the immediate, searing pain; but he deliberately turned his mouth against Aziraphale’s leg to muffle the sound. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale praised him. “Very good, my dove…” 

Gabriel had a few seconds to breathe before the next, stronger blast of sharp agony hit him. Within a minute, the pain was one continuous wave that didn’t let up, but only intensified as Aziraphale firmly held him down where he could at least cry out to some extent without the sound being heard. Aziraphale kept up a steady stream of quiet, comforting words and gentle shushing sounds, soothing Gabriel with light, rhythmic touches against his shoulders, his back, the back of his neck, his head. 

“You’re doing so well, dear,” he assured Gabriel with warmth and affection, his approval clear in his voice even through the pain. “My sweet, obedient little dove…” 

Gabriel didn’t know how long it lasted, but it seemed to go on forever, the pain steadily intensifying until he could no longer cry out - could scarcely even breathe. It was only then that he finally felt Aziraphale’s fingers brush his wrist, and the pain faded out swiftly, all at once. 

Gabriel collapsed completely against Aziraphale’s legs, sobbing with relief, as Aziraphale comforted him with gentle words, fingers trailing down from his hair to run slowly, lightly, across the length of his shoulders. 

Then… just a bit lower…

All at once Gabriel realized  _ where _ Aziraphale’s hand had focused its attention - tracing very gently along the place where Gabriel’s wings would emerge if he manifested them. Gabriel’s stomach plummeted with fear, and he went very, very still, his heart racing. He couldn’t breathe, his entire body trembling as he resisted the urge to sit up, to pull away from the unwelcome touch, to  _ make Aziraphale stop _ …

Abruptly, Aziraphale seized Gabriel’s wrist with one hand and his hair with the other, yanking him up. 

“Are you  _ threatening  _ me, Gabriel?” he snarled in disbelieving menace. 

Gabriel blinked, disoriented and confused, not understanding the accusation - until he saw the glowing, iridescent purple light, flecked through with sparks of celestial flame, surrounding the hand Aziraphale was holding up. 

“You intend to strike?” Aziraphale smiled, an ugly, vicious thing. Even as Gabriel shook his head in desperate denial, Aziraphale shook him, snarling, “Well, then,  _ strike _ . Take your best shot, archangel, and we’ll see how it turns out for us both.” 

“No,” Gabriel pleaded, still shaking his head. “No, I d-don’t want to, I - can’t help it…”

“You  _ can  _ help it,” Aziraphale declared fiercely. “It is well within your control, just as that  _ mouth _ of yours is within your control. And you  _ will _ control  _ both _ , my dove… or  _ I will _ .” 

Gabriel quickly nodded. “Y-yes, sir…” 

Aziraphale jerked Gabriel in closer, his voice low with menace. “I’m afraid I’ve left my gloves at home, my dear,” he informed him, pointed and measured. “Do you  _ really _ want to make me angry right now?” 

Gabriel shook his head desperately, struggling for breath that seemed to come far too quickly, and still left him gasping for air. He closed his eyes, fighting to suppress his celestial body’s instinctive reaction to the threat it had perceived - an automatic fight response to Aziraphale’s suggestive touch. 

With an effort, Gabriel closed his trembling hand into a fist, focusing his gaze intently on it, focusing on extinguishing the flame of his power that was so very close to the surface. Once it was under control, he looked up at Aziraphale in a silent, pleading question. 

“Very good.” Aziraphale nodded slowly, the taut, angry set of his shoulders relaxing, as he relented and allowed Gabriel’s hand to fall, his hand returning to rest on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Very good, my dove…” 

His eyes narrowed, suspicious, watching Gabriel’s face closely as he allowed his hand to shift downward - very pointedly, deliberately touching the exact same spot again. Gabriel lowered his eyes and kept very, very still - forcing himself to submit. 

“It’s always your instinct to resist, isn’t it?” Aziraphale observed, soft and cold. “To continually  _ defy _ me.” 

Gabriel shook his head, silently pleading. 

“But you’ve just proven, you  _ can _ control it. You  _ can… surrender _ . Can’t you?” Aziraphale looked deep into Gabriel’s eyes with a knowing smile and a leading nod. 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly in return, tears streaking his face. 

“That’s what’s best for you, my dove,” Aziraphale advised him, a stern note touching his gentle words. “The only way for you to avoid this sort of suffering, this severe punishment you’ve endured today, in the future. Stop fighting.  _ Surrender _ .” 

Gabriel nodded again, closing his eyes, gasping in deep, silent sobs as he tried to catch his breath. 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, at last lifting his hand from Gabriel’s back to play idly through his hair again. 

“Next time… you’ll come when I call you, won’t you?” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel sobbed, nodding emphatically. 

Aziraphale’s hand tightened in warning, his lips drawn tight as well. “Even if you end up simply turning right back around and coming back here. You’ll  _ do as you’re told _ . Yes?” 

“Yes, sir.” Gabriel nodded again, raising one shaking hand to hide his face. “I will,” he promised desperately. “Please,  _ I will _ …”

Aziraphale eased his grip, his severe expression melting into a warm smile. “Now, you see?” he said brightly, taking Gabriel’s hand and pulling it gently down again, then tilting Gabriel’s face up to meet his tear-filled eyes. “ _ Now _ I believe that you mean that. I’m sure. It definitely  _ will not _ happen again.” 

He touched Gabriel’s face almost tenderly, brushing away his tears - and then slid his hand around to the back of his neck, firmly pressing his face down again, down against his knees. Gabriel’s heart pounded with breathtaking fear, but he complied, folding his hands together in front of him, helplessly. 

Aziraphale wasn’t touching him  _ there _ again -  _ not yet _ \- but the simple, terrifying message was profoundly clear. 

He  _ could _ . Anytime he wanted. 

Gabriel focused on just  _ breathing _ \- suppressing his instinct to fight, forcing himself to relax his body and accept Aziraphale’s touch - wherever he decided to touch. 

If Aziraphale did force him to manifest his wings - and Gabriel had no doubt that he  _ could do that -  _ if Aziraphale decided to hurt and abuse his wings, as he’d done with the rest of Gabriel’s body which was so completely at his disposal - there would be  _ nothing _ that Gabriel could do to stop him. 

It was utterly outside of his control. Fighting only made everything worse - only made  _ Aziraphale angry _ … 

But… Aziraphale was  _ pleased _ with him,  _ now _ . 

“Yes, my dove,” Aziraphale murmured, as if he could read Gabriel’s thoughts - and perhaps he could. “Much better, that’s it. Just stop fighting. Just make this all so much easier for yourself… and surrender. Because we both know, eventually you  _ will _ give me your surrender, won’t you? Fully.  _ Completely _ ...” 

Gabriel felt as if he was sinking, pressed down into the stifling darkness by Aziraphale’s light, deceptively gentle touch against his skin - searing him, warming him, reassuring him with an odd, unexpected sense of  _ relief _ . 

There was a sense of peace that came with simply  _ giving in _ \- just allowing Aziraphale’s hushed, hypnotic words to surround him, letting them fill his mind and swallow up all traces of resistance as he accepted their inevitability. 

“Eventually,” Aziraphale whispered, soft and enticing in his ear. “Eventually, my dove… you’ll give me  _ everything _ …”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter this time - only 4000 words or so ;) lol ... last one was very long and intense... this one is maybe a bit of an emotional "break" after that one? 
> 
> Just wanted to say how deeply I appreciate all the lovely, insightful comments. On this last chapter several of you wrote comments that were actually MULTIPLE comments and just - PLEASE don't ever feel the need to apologize for that, do you know how much it MAKES MY DAY to get comments like that? <3 <3 <3 
> 
> I so appreciate every one of you who takes the time to tell me what you thought of the chapter, what bits stood out to you, etc. It motivates me so much to keep writing! Thanks so much, guys!! 
> 
> *hugs*  
> DoS

Aziraphale rarely slept. 

He knew that Crowley took great pleasure in extravagant naps lasting sometimes days, or longer, and he had to concede that the sight of his demon, laid out in the bed they shared - eyes closed and features slack with sleep, totally at peace and trusting that he’d be safe here in Aziraphale’s home - well, it was an image enticing enough to make him consider taking up the practice himself. 

But then, Aziraphale supposed, he’d never get  _ anything _ done. 

For a being who rarely slept, as it was, he was finding himself spending an inordinate amount of time in bed these days. 

It was entirely the fault of his beautiful demon - long, elegant limbs that wrapped around Aziraphale and held him fast, Crowley’s face nuzzling into Aziraphale’s chest, lips pressing soft incentive into his skin. 

“ _ Stay _ ,” Crowley murmured, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite be certain he hadn’t infused the word with a touch of infernal temptation, for its remarkable potency. “You don’t have to get up yet.” 

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” Aziraphale reminded him with a soft laugh, stroking his hair and leaning down to press a tender kiss to his temple. “Before we know it the entire day will have slipped away…” 

“And that’s  _ bad _ , because…?” 

As Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, his eyes were caught by the sparkling blue stones on his own hand. He grimaced a little, hesitating as he instinctively held Crowley a little tighter. 

“It’s… not bad at all, it’s just…” 

“It’s Tuesday.” The words were flat, and vaguely disappointed, as if Crowley had only just remembered. “Right.” 

Aziraphale tried not to bristle at his tone, reminding himself that it was only a few short weeks ago when Crowley could barely bring himself to  _ look _ at Aziraphale on a Tuesday; and now, despite the slight displeasure clear in the demon’s words, he didn’t pull out of Aziraphale’s embrace, didn’t stiffen or glare or in any other way withdraw from Aziraphale’s affections. 

“I - I do have a bit of preparation to handle before Gabriel arrives,” Aziraphale admitted with an apologetic sigh, taking comfort in the fact that Crowley left his head relaxed and close against Aziraphale’s chest, and allowed him to continue idly stroking his hair. “I’m sorry to have to cut this unspeakably sweet tryst short, but…” 

Crowley laughed softly, a warm puff of air against Aziraphale’s bare skin. “We haven’t left this bed in over a day, angel,” he admitted. “You’re hardly neglecting me.” 

Aziraphale felt a rush of warmth for Crowley, as he reached a hand down to gently tilt his head up, and golden eyes met his gaze. In that moment, Crowley looked so trusting, so open. Aziraphale could very nearly forget how guarded his demon had been in the not-so-distant past - how he’d hedged and kept things from him, and even outright  _ lied  _ to him. 

The uncertainty in Crowley’s wide, guileless eyes was at least  _ honest _ , and Aziraphale made himself set his own reservations aside. Things were getting better every day between them. His Crowley was slowly, cautiously coming back to him - and Aziraphale had no intention of ever coming so near to losing him again. 

“You do know I’d much rather just stay here with you,” Aziraphale assured him softly - and he almost meant it. 

Ever since he’d begun having his secret Saturday meetings with Gabriel, these regular Tuesday sessions didn’t hold quite the same appeal they once had. 

Crowley held his gaze for a long moment, something troubled and conflicted in his eyes, before he smiled, tentative and uncertain. “I know, angel.” 

Aziraphale leaned down, and Crowley rose up on his elbow to meet him halfway for a slow, languid kiss, before rolling over onto his back and off of Aziraphale. Reluctantly, Aziraphale rose from the bed and began his usual process of dressing for the day. Crowley watched him from the bed, relaxed and comfortable, but curious. 

“So… what do you actually  _ do _ now, when he’s here?” he asked at last, and if there was any real suspicion there, Aziraphale couldn’t detect it in his voice. “Now that you’re not… punishing him, anymore?” 

“You know, you’re always welcome to observe if you’d like. See for yourself.” 

Aziraphale did not allow himself to hesitate as he continued getting dressed. His back was turned to the bed, but he was well aware that his face was still clearly visible to Crowley in the mirror. He kept his expression open, even hopeful, as if this would be something he’d be more than happy to share with his partner. 

“I’ll pass,” Crowley replied flatly. “Just… curious, ‘s all.” 

Aziraphale had to suppress a smile. Crowley had answered just as he’d expected him to - not that it would have been a problem if Crowley had surprised him, and decided to observe. 

Gabriel knew well enough how to behave around Crowley by now. 

“I just… talk,” Aziraphale answered thoughtfully. Then, after a moment, he amended, “Or teach, rather. I’m - instructing Gabriel in how to be a better angel. How to show concern for…” He considered his next words a moment before meeting Crowley’s eyes in the mirror with a knowing smile. “... aspects of Her creation other than himself.” 

Crowley scoffed lightly, shaking his head a little. “Can’t imagine he’s a quick study.” 

“At that particular topic? Goodness, no,” Aziraphale agreed, inordinately pleased at Crowley’s derisive tone. “He’s always been so certain that he knows best… that he’s of more value than other angels, more value than…  _ humanity _ . And he can certainly be most obstinate at times. But… I do believe I’m finally beginning to get through to him. He’s listening, and actually learning.” 

“Hmm.” Crowley’s expression was dubious, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Funny how that works a whole lot better  _ without _ a hellfire whip as a teaching aid.” 

“I know, I know,” Aziraphale sighed, smiling ruefully as he turned to face Crowley, carefully buttoning his threadbare vest. “I only wish I’d followed  _ your _ example from the start.” 

The words were carefully chosen, and Aziraphale felt a twinge of regret mingled with his satisfaction when Crowley winced a little and looked away at the reminder that  _ following Crowley’s example _ was  _ exactly _ what Aziraphale had done, in the beginning. 

This had all been Crowley’s idea, really, hadn’t it? 

A subtle reminder of that might help to curb any doubts or resentments that might have been resurfacing in Crowley’s mind. 

Aziraphale crossed the room to Crowley’s side, leaning down to kiss his mouth again to soften the sting, drawing back and lovingly brushing the demon’s hair back from his eyes as he gazed into them. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, my love,” he murmured. 

Crowley’s troubled expression softened into a warm smile, and he blushed a little as he looked away, self-conscious under Aziraphale’s focused fawning. 

“I’ll be just downstairs if you need me.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and gently squeezed it. “Studying a bit before Gabriel arrives.” 

Crowley nodded his acceptance, and Aziraphale turned to make his way downstairs. As he did, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers, mildly surprised when it closed around smooth, cool metal. 

He’d almost forgotten it was there. 

He waited until he was alone in the backroom to withdraw the item from his pocket - the shiny gold pen he’d taken from Gabriel’s desk. He turned it back and forth a bit to make it catch the light, smiling to himself as his mind drifted back to his last encounter with the archangel. 

  
  


_ Gabriel was on his knees at Aziraphale’s feet where he belonged, desperately seeking to please him enough to avert the inevitable, using every ounce of skill Aziraphale had taught him, every subtle nuance he’d learned of what Aziraphale liked… _

_ Aziraphale knew that no one could see through the miracle he’d performed on the office window. There was little real chance of being caught. Still, the thought of someone rounding the corner and seeing them like this was a thrilling rush. The  _ Archangel Fucking Gabriel, _ humbled and subservient to him - naked, blind, helpless, and submitting himself to Aziraphale’s will.  _

_ Aziraphale’s right fist clenched in his hair and yanking him in closer, relishing his soft little whimper of pained protest. His left fist closed tight around the gold pen he still held, as he imagined Heaven’s reactions.  _

_ It was possible they’d be outraged on Gabriel’s behalf - want to help him.  _

_ But they wouldn’t dare try.  _

_ They could only watch, helplessly - acknowledging Aziraphale’s power over Gabriel, and over all of them, with their silent inaction.  _

_ Would they reject Gabriel in disgust? Kick him out of Heaven?  _

_ Or perhaps… he’d do that for them. Too overwhelmed with shame to ever show his face again, he’d retreat to Earth.  _

_ To Aziraphale’s territory.  _

_ He’d be Aziraphale’s sweet, obedient little dove for good - well-trained to always return home.  _

_ Aziraphale’s fist clenched around the pen until he was afraid he’d snap it in half.  _

_ That wouldn’t do. He liked it, wanted to hold onto it, like the thrill of this moment…  _

_ He’d tucked it away in his pocket and grasped the edge of Gabriel’s desk instead, until the polished wood creaked under the strength of his grip… _

  
  


Aziraphale’s smile faded a little as he thought back over the events of that day, and the tremendous risk he had taken. 

It had been more than a little unsettling, returning to Heaven for the first time since he’d - well, rebelled, really; there was no other word for it. He’d defied the orders of a commanding officer outright rejected any part in the war, and fled to Earth to join forces with Crowley. And since that moment, he’d had little desire to return. 

Of course there was a certain appeal to the idea of seeing for himself just how frightened the other angels  _ actually were _ of him. A dozen different imaginary scenarios played out in his mind - but their respectfully averted eyes, their anxiety to appease him, the fearful  _ respect  _ he’d  _ never _ been afforded in Heaven before - that was the same in every single one. 

Still - Aziraphale knew better than to take the risk. All it would require would be for a single archangel that he  _ hadn’t  _ managed to thoroughly subdue to panic and lash out in defense of the others, in defense of  _ Heaven _ \- and all would be lost. So, despite his rather satisfying fantasies, Aziraphale determined to minimize all contact with Heaven - to stay on Earth and be content with regular visits from his own trained archangel to scratch that particularly dark itch. 

And, yes, he did enjoy… playing with those boundaries a bit from time to time. Toying with the countdown while he knew Gabriel was in Heaven - smiling to himself at the thought of Gabriel, scrambling to drop everything and get to Earth, to  _ Aziraphale _ as swiftly as possible - desperate to throw himself at Aziraphale’s feet and satisfy his every demand. 

Of course… Aziraphale didn’t actually  _ want  _ Gabriel to  _ arrive  _ at the shop. 

Crowley had usually been home when he’d changed the timer - simply sleeping, or busy in another room. If he wasn’t home, he’d just popped out on some brief errand. Things were going so well, now. Aziraphale didn’t want to take the risk of Crowley catching him with Gabriel and destroying all the painstaking work he’d put into restoring the demon’s trust. 

Usually, Aziraphale would feel Gabriel’s presence on Earth a good five to ten minutes before the watch was due to reach  **_00:00:00_ ** \- except for the one time when he’d allowed Gabriel the exact length of the elevator ride to reach him, when he’d felt Gabriel arrive on Earth a mere  _ fifteen seconds _ before the deadline, and relished the thought of Gabriel’s increasing desperation during the interminable ride down. 

_ That _ had certainly been amusing.

Aziraphale didn’t have to set foot in Heaven in order to make his power known there, at least to Gabriel - and that was enough, really. Knowing that Gabriel was at his beck and call, dropping everything to show up on Earth whenever Aziraphale called on him.

Until the time came when he just…  _ didn’t _ . 

A sense of disbelieving outrage had swiftly swelled up in Aziraphale as the timer in his mind grew shorter and shorter. Furious, Aziraphale had considered letting the watch reach  **_00:00:00_ ** _. That  _ would teach Gabriel not to defy him. The punishment of the watch would certainly bring Gabriel’s rebellion to a swift and certain end, and bring the archangel to his knees on the bookshop floor, pleading in tears for Aziraphale’s forgiveness. It would most definitely be…  _ effective _ . 

But  _ Crowley was home.  _

Seething with frustration, Aziraphale had reset the countdown when it reached 30 seconds. Gabriel nearly always appeared on Earth nearly 15 minutes  _ exactly _ after Aziraphale called for him. If he hadn’t come by now, it was clear that he did not intend to come at all. He’d figured out the game, and decided he thought he could beat it. 

It seemed a lesson was in order. 

It had been difficult to suppress his amusement at the unmistakable guilty fear in Gabriel’s wide, violet eyes the following Saturday; the archangel had been at least half-expecting that he’d been somehow caught, wary of punishment. 

Aziraphale had withheld it, for the moment, in favor of a far more satisfying payoff. 

He’d  _ suggested _ to Crowley that he might enjoy an evening out with Anathema that Thursday - putting just a little something extra behind the suggestion, so that Crowley enthusiastically agreed, yes, that sounded like  _ just the thing _ . Once the arrangements had been made for Crowley and his friend to see a movie, Aziraphale had been free to put his latest lesson plan into action. 

Aziraphale smiled at the gold pen for a moment before opening the desk drawer and putting it away with the rest of his small treasures. 

He could never have imagined how beautifully that lesson would go. 

  
  


_ Stepping out of the elevator onto the main floor of Heaven, his heart pounding in his throat, Aziraphale reminded himself that all of Heaven found him as terrifying as Gabriel did.  _

_ Well. That wasn’t actually true, not anymore. _

_ And Gabriel clearly wasn’t as afraid of him as he should have been.  _

_ No one was around to see his arrival, and Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief.  _

_ A quick miracle carried him from the elevator doors to the seclusion of Gabriel’s office, where he materialized directly behind the archangel’s chair for maximum dramatic effect.  _

_ But Gabriel wasn’t there.  _

_ Perhaps he had decided to make his way down to Earth this time, after all. Aziraphale considered going back down to the bookshop to check, but then reconsidered. He would wait the countdown out in Gabriel’s office, just to see. Even if the archangel  _ was _ being obedient this time, he had punishment coming from the previous week’s defiance. Aziraphale had no issue with leaving him to suffer on his knees on the backroom floor, waiting in misery for Aziraphale’s arrival.  _

_ Crowley would not be home to witness it.  _

_ In the meantime, he prepared this space for Gabriel’s likely return.  _

_ The offices of the archangels were each in a fairly secluded corner of Heaven, at the end of a long, curved hallway - where they were unlikely to be disturbed by the more mundane celestial goings-on. In order to reach an archangel’s office, one had to be purposefully headed in that particular direction. It was unlikely that anyone would happen to pass the window and look inside accidentally.  _

_ Still… Gabriel  _ was _ an archangel. Highly in demand, despite his utter incompetence.  _

_ Aziraphale rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.  _

_ He considered his options for a moment before snapping his fingers, miraculously transforming the window beside the office door to provide a convincing illusion from the outside. He could still see out, and be aware if anyone was approaching, aware enough to ensure that Gabriel would be quiet and still and not do anything to draw any undue attention - but to anyone looking in from outside, the office would appear to be empty.  _

_ He checked the door, smiling grimly when he found it locked. While a mere lock could not withstand the power of an angelic miracle, simple decorum and good form would require an answered knock before entering - certainly from Gabriel’s subordinates. Even the other archangels would be unlikely to ignore the polite signal of a locked door and enter Gabriel’s office without his welcome.  _

_ Aziraphale was neither underling nor peer to Gabriel - not anymore.  _

_ He had no need of Gabriel’s permission for anything.  _

_ Aziraphale amused himself while he waited by rifling through Gabriel’s desk. Every now and then he’d cast a wary glance toward the window, until he realized: Gabriel did not seem to be in as high demand these days as he once had been.  _

_ Aziraphale could remember patiently waiting in line outside the archangel’s door to offer his report - but there was no line, now.  _

_ Not a single celestial soul.  _

_ Aziraphale had nearly decided to head back to the bookshop when Gabriel abruptly appeared just inside the door - his body language speaking of weary distraction, his gaze trained on the floor. He looked up - and immediately froze, visibly and satisfyingly startled by Aziraphale’s presence.  _

_ “You weren’t even going to try, were you?”  _

_ If there’d been any trace of doubt left in Aziraphale’s mind as to the archangel’s intentions, the guilty, trapped expression in Gabriel’s wide eyes would have squelched it. Furious outrage burned in Aziraphale’s chest, but he maintained his composure.  _

_ Calm. Control.  _

_ That was what was required of him, in order to effectively convince his wayward little bird to fly right back into his cage.  _

_ It didn’t take long at all to bring Gabriel to his knees at Aziraphale’s feet. _

_ Though the level of resistance he still displayed was... alarming. The instant Gabriel grasped his wrist, Aziraphale’s heart leapt with momentary panic. Gabriel was not wearing the hellfire cuffs; his full strength was unrestrained - and certainly great enough to overpower Aziraphale.  _

_ Aziraphale could not allow him an instant in which to realize that.  _

_ Couldn’t allow him to feel as if he was controlling the circumstances, by tolerating his redundant obscuring miracle.  _

Most definitely could not  _ allow him to display his full power, to hold it so close to the surface, even if the display was merely accidental.  _

Especially because _ it was accidental.  _

_ Because all that would be required for Aziraphale’s utter obliteration was a  _ single errant thought _.  _

_ Aziraphale knew that Gabriel was acting on sheer instinct; his own instincts were screaming at him in response, demanding that he back down, release the fierce, powerful creature he was so boldly threatening, retreat to someplace distant and safe.  _

_ If he did that - Aziraphale would lose everything.  _

_ He resisted the impulse and instead plunged forward through the fear, grabbing Gabriel’s wrist when everything in him cried out for him to stay far, far away from the ethereal power sparking at the tips of the archangel’s fingers.  _

_ Aziraphale was terrified - and he  _ could not _ allow Gabriel to see that.  _

_ Instead, Aziraphale ruthlessly threatened Gabriel into compliance, capitalizing on Gabriel’s terror, on the things he believed he’d seen and experienced which backed up Aziraphale’s claims of power, until he dampened down his own power, and all that was left was his frantic, sobbed out pleas and apologies.  _

_ Aziraphale calmly soothed him, praising his submission, reasserting his claim to Gabriel’s body - even the parts of it he had yet to touch - until he felt every last trace of resistance drain out of the archangel’s trembling frame, felt his surrender under Aziraphale’s hands.  _

_ And then, Aziraphale left Heaven and returned to the solitude of his bookshop, where he promptly fell apart, shaking violently with the residual dread of what could have happened, what very nearly  _ had _ happened, to him at Gabriel’s hand.  _

  
  


Aziraphale laughed darkly, shaking his head. 

_ “You can help it. It is well within your control, just as that mouth of yours is within your control. And you will control both, my dove… or I will.”  _

Aziraphale had never made, or even  _ heard  _ a more empty threat. 

If Gabriel had decided in that moment to resist, to  _ not _ suppress his power, there would have been nothing Aziraphale could have done about it. 

His  _ mouth _ , though. 

About  _ that _ … Aziraphale had ideas. 

In the end, Aziraphale felt he’d won that particular battle, gained significant ground - and he could afford to be a bit more gentle in the wake of that victory. 

He could still feel the trembling of Gabriel’s silken skin under his hand, as he’d idly stroked his back, reminding him that he did not  _ have _ to be merciful - even as he extended mercy. 

“No need for our personal session this Saturday,” he’d informed him, as he touched the watch and reset the timer. “Crowley and I will see you at the usual time on Tuesday.” 

And he’d resisted the temptation to rescind that small indulgence, despite the fact that it’d left him restless and agitated that Saturday evening. Crowley had come home from book club to find his angel in a fiercely fervored state, pressing him up against the wall and kissing the breath from his lungs as he’d fairly  _ dragged _ him to the bedroom. 

Aziraphale was happy to lose himself in his love’s embrace, and focus his attentions on Crowley, and sate any lingering frustration in him. 

It was a necessary concession - this rare free evening allowed to Gabriel, this reward for his eventual submission. 

The  _ lesson _ was more important. 

Aziraphale locked the drawer where his trinkets were kept and settled into his chair to do a bit of studying to ready his mind for the passages he intended to read to Gabriel that night. 

Shortly before Gabriel was due to arrive, Aziraphale left the backroom to find Crowley idly pacing about the shop, clearly a bit restless as they waited for the archangel’s arrival. Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale, that familiar, heart-rending uncertainty in his eyes - and Aziraphale gave him a warm reassuring smile as he went to him, taking him into his arms. 

Crowley sighed as he leaned into Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Are you still angry with me?” Aziraphale asked softly. “I know you still don’t like this…” 

“I don’t,” Crowley agreed. “I wish we could just be done with it all. Just be done with him and have our lives back…”

“I do, too,” Aziraphale lied. “But… we both know…”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Crowley sighed, lifting his head. “I’m not angry with you, angel. This - this is better. It is.”

“You’re certain you wouldn’t like to observe?” Aziraphale offered again, ducking his head to catch Crowley’s eye. “Just to perhaps… get a feel for what it’s like now? I feel that if you did, you might feel better about it all…”

Crowley hesitated, and Aziraphale readied himself for the shift in his plans that Crowley’s answer might require. He wasn’t worried, not really. He could present a gentle, patient demeanor during tonight’s lesson, and save the more severe aspects for Saturday night. 

Gabriel knew enough by now to follow Aziraphale’s lead, and present to Crowley only what Aziraphale wanted him to see. 

But Crowley just shook his head, lowering his gaze. “No,” he decided. “I’m being ridiculous, I know. It’s just…” 

His words broke off at the sound of the bell over the bookshop door.

Aziraphale froze, stunned at the sight of the archangel standing in the doorway - who scarcely resembled the impressively attired, commanding superior Aziraphale had reported to for so many centuries. 

Gabriel’s head was bowed, his shoulders low, his right hand anxiously circling his left wrist, covering the watch, which still allowed him more than ten minutes until his arrival was required. 

But his submissive demeanor was familiar and expected, and not at all what caught Aziraphale’s attention. 

Gabriel was wearing jeans - dark wash, clearly brand new, but still  _ jeans _ in place of his usual dress pants. His stylish Italian shoes had been traded for simple black tennis shoes, and there wasn’t a trace of unnecessary adornment on him. His shirt was a simple button down, lavender - with a tiny flame emblem emblazoned over his heart. 

Just where Aziraphale had placed it in the dressing room where this had all started, so many months earlier. 

Gabriel glanced up at him for a moment before his gaze fell to where Aziraphale’s was focused, and he lifted a hand uncertainly to touch the golden flame. 

“I thought… thought you might want me to… to wear it,” he said, his voice hushed and cautious. He swallowed hard, then looked up at Aziraphale again, hope mingled with fear in his eyes as he ventured softly, “Is - is this right? Is this how you want me?” 


	18. Chapter 18

“I - I hope this is okay…” 

The archangel’s tone was hesitant, and he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, fidgeting anxiously with the watch on his wrist. “I really wasn’t sure what humans wear when they’re…  _ not _ dressed up, and… the human in the shop wasn’t very helpful when I asked her to show me the worst clothing items they had for sale, so… I just tried to pick stuff I thought was… ugly.” 

Gabriel glanced at Crowley with uncertainty, casting his nervous gaze up and down the length of Crowley’s outfit. His eyes widened, and he winced as he dropped his gaze to the floor at the demon’s feet. 

“Sorry.” 

Crowley blinked. “Wait,  _ what _ ?” He frowned, shaking his head a little. “I don’t dress like that…” 

“Except this…” Gabriel continued, soft and thoughtful as he lifted a hand to touch the flame emblem on his shirt.

“I  _ don’t _ dress like that, with the… tennis shoes and the…  _ purple _ …” Crowley insisted, eyeing the archangel’s uncharacteristic ensemble with distaste. 

But neither Gabriel nor Aziraphale seemed even to hear that he’d spoken at all. 

“If I got it wrong,” Gabriel continued, an anxious tremor in his hesitant words, “I - I can wear something else. There were… worse things in the shop. Humbler things. I could wear like - a graphic t-shirt, or something,” he offered - unenthusiastic, his lips twisting with displeasure, as if the words themselves tasted bad in his mouth. His gaze fell, his fingers fiddling nervously with the embroidered flame on his shirt. “I just… thought you’d prefer this, to… anything they had in the shop.” 

Crowley remembered the story Aziraphale had told him about his first encounter with Gabriel in the dressing room of the archangel’s favorite shop - the lavender shirt with the tiny emblem meant to represent both the threat of hellfire, and the flames that had surrounded Aziraphale’s own sword - a symbolic reminder of Aziraphale’s power over Gabriel. 

He watched as Gabriel ran his fingers over the delicate embroidery, and felt deeply unsettled. They’d both assumed Gabriel had left the shirt there on the floor of the dressing room - or destroyed it. 

Certainly not…  _ kept  _ it, like some sort of sentimental thing that one would  _ keep _ . 

Crowley felt a little ill at the earnest, searching look in Gabriel’s eyes as they turned up to meet Aziraphale’s focused gaze - his words almost hopeful, anxious and eager to please. 

“I thought… you made it, so… that must mean you like it. Right?” 

Crowley’s eyes darted to Aziraphale to take in his reaction. 

Aziraphale was silent for a long moment, seemingly stunned. He turned his eyes toward Crowley, wide and disbelieving, shaking his head slowly in wonder. 

Gabriel had dropped his gaze to the floor again, his words faltering and uncertain. “Unless you  _ don’t _ like it. I probably got it wrong, I - I’m trying, but...” He drew in an unsteady breath. “If I got it wrong, I’ll fix it. Just… tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’m just… trying to - to surrender…”

“The last vestiges of your formal prideful appearance, I know,” Aziraphale concluded, his tone soft and reassuring as he closed the distance between himself and Gabriel. 

He placed a firm hand at the side of Gabriel’s neck in an affectionate gesture that caused Gabriel to look up at him with uncertain eyes. Aziraphale’s back was toward Crowley, so Crowley could not see his face - but he  _ could _ see that Aziraphale was standing  _ very _ close to Gabriel. Crowley  _ could _ clearly see  _ Gabriel’s _ face - and he was completely focused on Aziraphale, his desperation for Aziraphale’s approval clear in his wide, earnest eyes. 

It was an oddly intimate interaction. 

Crowley felt like there was something he was missing - something vitally important, absolutely  _ crucial _ to  _ really understanding _ what he was seeing. 

Something… they  _ both wanted _ him to miss. 

_ You’re being ridiculous, _ he told himself.  _ If they were hiding something, it’d be somewhere besides  _ right before your fucking eyes _ , wouldn’t it?  _

_ Like… in the backroom… all those times when you aren’t around…  _

_ But you could be. You’re invited.  _

_ You’re just… being ridiculous.  _

Still, he couldn’t help feeling… shut out. As if there was some sort of unspoken communication occurring between his partner and the archangel, something Crowley was not a part of and could not understand. Aziraphale was studying Gabriel’s face intently. Gabriel didn’t seem  _ scared _ , exactly, but his entire focus was locked onto Aziraphale, hanging on his every minute reaction. 

Gabriel glanced at Crowley, noticing his attention - and then abruptly lowered his gaze, his face flushing self-consciously. 

Crowley felt a little sicker inside. 

“It’s all right, my dear.” 

It took Crowley a moment to understand that the soft reassurance in Aziraphale’s voice was not directed at him or his rising uneasiness - and the realization only intensified the churning in his gut. 

“I understand,” Airaphale assured Gabriel with a warm smile, his hand shifting from Gabriel’s shoulder to cup the back of his head. “You’ve done well.” 

Gabriel let out a soft, shuddering breath, his shoulders falling with visible relief. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale nodded once, his hand shifting to rest between Gabriel’s shoulder blades, and giving him a gentle push toward the backroom door. “Go on, now. I’ll be along in a moment.” 

As Gabriel obeyed, Aziraphale turned to face Crowley, visibly restraining any sound of his delight, though he was beaming and practically bouncing on his heels with it. 

Crowley was… less pleased. 

He waited until Gabriel had disappeared into the backroom to voice his concern. 

“Uh… what the Heaven was  _ that _ ?” 

“Lately, we’ve been discussing the things he’s been holding onto,” Aziraphale explained. “His inordinate pride in his own appearance… the way he tries to present himself as being better than others. Clearly, he’s been listening and learning.” 

“Apparently,” Crowley grudgingly conceded, doubtful and distracted, his eyes drawn toward the backroom door. 

Aziraphale crossed the room to him with a swift, purposeful stride, grasping Crowley’s arms and drawing his attention back to himself with a bright, beaming smile that lit his eyes with happy anticipation - just the sort of look that might have been in his eyes if he’d been offering Crowley a bite of something sweet and delicious from his plate in his favorite dining establishment. 

_ Here, Crowley, my love, this thing I’m offering you makes me so happy. Please share it with me. Please enjoy it too.  _

“You were right, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, warm and adoring. “Ever since I’ve… changed tactics, with Gabriel… it seems he’s truly changed as well. Before, he was merely reacting out of fear. Doing whatever it was he thought I wanted him to do, in order to avoid punishment. But now - now, he  _ means _ it. You saw that, too, right? That… sincerity, in his demeanor?” 

Crowley nodded slowly, pensive. 

That was… certainly  _ one  _ valid interpretation of what he’d just seen. 

Among other interpretations that were far less pleasant and more unsettling - other interpretations that he really didn’t want to think about too closely. 

Aziraphale laughed, exultant, as he pulled Crowley in close, catching him by surprise with a fervent, emphatic kiss. Crowley felt his distractions begin to fade to the back of his mind as he lost himself to the kiss, a bit breathless and wide-eyed when at last Aziraphale withdrew, just enough to whisper, breath warm and sweet against Crowley’s lips. 

“You are  _ amazing _ , my love.” He pressed a second, softer kiss to Crowley’s cheek before drawing back to meet his eyes. “Remind me of this, next time I fail to listen to your advice.” 

Crowley tried to shut out his lingering uneasiness, forcing himself to focus on Aziraphale’s warm smile, and not allow his gaze to drift back toward the backroom door. He managed a smile of his own in return, with a warning that he hoped came off more playful than foreboding. 

“I’ll hold you to that, angel.” 

“Counting on it,” Aziraphale cheerfully replied as he turned and headed for the backroom - shutting the door firmly behind him, and leaving Crowley alone with the troubling thoughts and questions that immediately closed in on him again. 

**********************************************************************************************

Gabriel was shaking so badly that it was difficult to stay on his feet; sinking to his knees on the familiar soft, red carpet was a mercy. 

He couldn’t tell if his intense physical reaction was one of relief, or terror. 

He supposed he wouldn’t actually be sure of that until Aziraphale joined him in the backroom. 

He’d said he was pleased. 

Of course - he’d said it  _ in front of Crowley _ . 

_ You shouldn’t be dressed right now. He wants you humbled. Submissive.  _

Surrender.  _ That’s the whole point, isn’t it?  _

All of the suffering Gabriel had endured over the past several months - all of the punishment and humiliation had been administered with the intention of bringing Gabriel to that point - the point of complete surrender. If he could just  _ get there _ \- just hand everything over to Aziraphale, all at once - then Aziraphale wouldn’t have to keep forcefully  _ taking _ , taking, taking  _ everything _ . 

Once Gabriel had nothing left to give. 

_ Show him. Show him he already has everything. Be ready and waiting for him when he comes in…  _

The clothes felt strange, anyway. Uncomfortably coarse on the bottom - too thin on the top, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. Gabriel touched the small, embroidered flame on his chest, a shiver moving down his spine. 

It would be no sacrifice, taking off these clothes and surrendering them. 

But - it was Tuesday. Crowley was here, and he was not supposed to undress. 

And besides… Aziraphale seemed to  _ like _ the way he looked, like this. 

_ Get used to it. Now that he’s seen you like this, he won’t let you go back...  _

Gabriel was torn from his troubled thoughts when Aziraphale entered the room, quietly closing the door behind him - and then just stood there, watching him with an odd, secretive sort of smile on his lips. 

Gabriel shivered, trembling fingers picking at the watch on his wrist, his eyes locked on the floor at Aziraphale’s feet. As Aziraphale began to slowly approach him, Gabriel’s mouth went dry, his heart racing in his throat as he fought back a rising sense of panic. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, “if I - if I got it wrong. And - for just - doing it without asking. I know you - sometimes don’t like it when I do things without asking, but I - I wanted to do something to show you that I was listening. That I’m - ready to surrender, like you said. To do what you want.  _ Whatever _ you want, just -  _ tell me what you want _ …” 

Gabriel turned pleading, desperate eyes up to Aziraphale, finding the principality watching him with mild amusement, a strange light in his eyes - still unsettlingly silent, his advancing steps slow and measured. 

“I hope what I said out there was - okay? In front of  _ Crowley _ ?” Gabriel found himself speaking the demon’s name in a hushed, cautious tone, as if by speaking it with him in the next room, he might summon him through the door. “I just… I wanted you to understand. Why I did it. What my intentions were. I know I probably shouldn’t have been talking so much, I just wanted to…” 

“Gabriel, dear.” 

Gabriel fell silent immediately as Aziraphale reached him, unable to suppress a slight flinch as Aziraphale reached down to brush his thumb across Gabriel’s trembling, parted lips. His tone was gently reproving, a quiet warning. 

“You  _ still are _ .” 

Gabriel blinked up at him in confusion, and Aziraphale sighed wearily, giving Gabriel a gently exasperated look, equal parts annoyance and affection. 

“ _ Talking _ ,” he clarified softly, rolling his eyes. “ _ So _ much.” 

Gabriel cringed, nodding in silent acceptance of Aziraphale’s judgment, even as his stomach dropped with dread. 

_ Nice going, idiot. You’re going to be punished. You’ve managed to fuck up the  _ first time _ you’ve actually  _ pleased _ him, and now you’re going to be punished.  _

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, cringing at the sound of his own hoarse, shaky whisper, even as the pleading words continued to spill forth from his trembling lips. “I’m sorry… sorry…” 

He might have gone on just like that - indefinitely apologizing for apologizing - if Aziraphale hadn’t taken pity on him and stopped it. 

_ “Shh, shh, shh…”  _

Aziraphale tilted Gabriel’s head up with one hand, brushing the other gently through his hair, affectionate and soothing as he murmured soft reassurance. 

“I’m not angry with you, my dove.” 

Gabriel let out a shuddering gasp of relief, then bit his lip to keep back any further words, anything that might spoil it and render Aziraphale’s favor into fury. For the moment, his ice blue eyes were soft with understanding, his hands gentle rather than violent and grasping. 

“You’ve made a genuine effort,” Aziraphale observed with quiet approval. “Put thought behind your actions, and actively  _ tried _ to do something to please me.” 

“H-have I?” Gabriel barely breathed out the words, cringing immediately in expectation of punishment - but desperate to  _ know. _ “Pleased you… sir?” 

Aziraphale didn’t strike him or otherwise retaliate against Gabriel’s whispered question. 

“You have,” he assured him softly. “You’ve pleased me very much.” 

Gabriel broke down, quietly weeping with relief, as Aziraphale shushed him, gentle fingers brushing away the tears that spilled down his face. 

“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” he murmured. “Look at me, dear.” Aziraphale’s eyes were narrowed slightly, speculative as he studied Gabriel’s face. “What made you decide to do this?” 

Gabriel drew in a shaky breath, carefully weighing his words as he tried to regain enough composure to answer clearly. 

“It was… what you said about… surrender,” he said at last. “And… honesty. Letting go of… things that don’t matter anymore, like… the way I’ve wanted them all to see me. I - I don’t care what they…” He stopped, wincing a little. 

That wasn’t quite true. Aziraphale would see right through lies, and would certainly not tolerate them. 

“I… don’t  _ want _ to care what they think of me. Anymore.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with clear approval at Gabriel’s careful honesty. 

“A very worthy goal,” he observed, nodding in satisfaction, his voice softening. “I’ll help you get there.” 

Gabriel shivered at the dark promise of the words.

“This willing act of submission deserves a reward,” Aziraphale declared, quiet for a moment as he considered, and then decided, “We’ll have no private session again this week. I’ll allow you to perform your penance today, and be done with it. You won’t be required to return until next Tuesday.” 

Gabriel tensed with alarm, glancing anxiously toward the backroom door, before looking back up at Aziraphale in silent question. While the idea of not having to come back on Saturday was appealing, the idea of any sort of penance at all while Crowley was in the building was most definitely  _ not. _

Being required to keep silence, while being whipped or fucked, or both, hardly felt like a reward of any kind. 

Aziraphale gave him a knowing smile as he concluded softly, “And, this once… you may  _ choose _ how you wish to perform your penance.” 

Gabriel froze, staring up at Aziraphale with wary eyes. 

It was probably a trap. 

Or - a test, perhaps. 

_ If you ask for something too small… too easy… he won’t like it.  _

“The whip,” Gabriel blurted out, though his stomach lurched at the prospect, a dangerous quaver in his voice as he continued, words rushing over each other with increasing dread. “Or the blade, if you want to - to mark me again. I - I know I have - many sins, and I - I deserve to be punished, and I’ll take my punishment, whatever I deserve, I w-won’t ask you to - to let me off easy,  _ please _ …” 

Gabriel flinched as Aziraphale’s hand came to rest, heavy against the back of his neck, the principality crouching down very near beside him.

“ _ Please _ ,” he gasped out, soft, desperate, breathless with panic. “I w-won’t let him hear… won’t make a sound…” Gabriel choked back a sob as Aziraphale reached his free hand up toward his face. “Please, I’m sorry if I chose wrong…” 

“You didn’t,” Aziraphale said softly, gently stroking his hair, soothing him. “I told you that you could choose, and you  _ haven’t _ chosen  _ wrong _ …  _ exactly _ .” 

The calculated hesitation made Gabriel feel sick. 

“But… you haven’t actually chosen  _ your _ preference, either, have you?” Aziraphale observed, soft and knowing. “You’ve chosen what you believe that  _ I _ want.” 

It was every word the truth. 

Gabriel swallowed hard, lifting a trembling hand to his face, overwhelmed with confusion and uncertainty. 

Wasn’t that what he was  _ supposed _ to do? 

“Yes,” he admitted, a quiet confession, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I just - I don’t want you to be angry with me,” he whispered. “I want - to m-make you happy.” 

“I’m  _ not  _ angry,” Aziraphale assured him, hushed and gentle. “I  _ am _ happy…  _ very _ happy with you, my dove...” 

Gabriel hesitated, more confused than ever as to what the  _ right  _ answer was, what Aziraphale expected from him, his anxiety swelling up within him with every word. 

“I - shouldn’t choose,” he choked out. “You know best what - what I deserve. I don’t - don’t have the right to decide, it should be you…” 

“Hush,” Aziraphale murmured, dropping to his knees on the floor, then folding his legs under him as he settled in beside Gabriel and reached out to take his arm and tug him down beside him. Gabriel felt his entire body go rigid with fear, his breath rapid, panicked, catching in his throat as Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him and pulled him in close. 

“Shh, easy, just relax,” Aziraphale soothed him, fingers brushing lightly through his damp hair, lips pressed to his brow in a parody of tenderness. “You’re doing so well,” Aziraphale reminded him softly. “You aren’t going to do a thing to spoil that, are you?” 

Gabriel’s stomach clenched painfully. He shook his head, barely able to draw breath to respond. 

“No, sir,” he whispered, trembling as he did his best to lean into Aziraphale’s embrace, to slow his breathing and just relax into it. 

“There we are,” Aziraphale said with soft approval. “Very good, my dove… that’s the way, just like that…” 

_ He’s not hurting you… he’s happy with you…  _

_ Don’t fuck it up.  _

“If I tell you to choose,” Aziraphale said softly after a few quiet moments, his hand still gentle and soothing in Gabriel’s hair. “Then it  _ should be you. I decide _ .”  __

_ There it is. So  _ that’s  _ how you turn it all to shit, you useless fuckwit.  _

_ Never doubted you’d manage it. Was beginning to wonder just exactly how.  _

Gabriel winced. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, despairing. “I’m sorry, sir, I just… I don’t know what… l’m sorry...” 

“Shh.” Aziraphale brushed a kiss across his temple that made Gabriel shiver, then put a hand at the back of his neck, encouraging his head down onto Aziraphale’s shoulder with a touch that was soft, and gentle, and a  _ single moment’s resistance _ away from brutal retaliation. 

“I know,” Aziraphale whispered. “I know it’s all… just a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? A bit confusing. But it’s really very simple, isn’t it? All you have to do is  _ as you’re told _ .” 

Gabriel nodded against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Yes, sir.” 

“I’m not angry,” Aziraphale repeated, fingers slowly, rhythmically sliding through Gabriel’s hair. 

Gabriel closed his eyes, trying to focus on the soothing, pleasurable feeling, and  _ not  _ the way those fingers would close into a fierce fist and  _ yank hard _ if he dared so much as  _ flinch _ . 

“Your act of such complete submission,” Aziraphale murmured, “I’m so very pleased with you for that. And it proves to me that you can and  _ will _ do as you’re told, won’t you? Anything I tell you to do.” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gabriel whispered fervently, nodding again without lifting his head. “Yes, I will…” 

Aziraphale’s hand slid down from Gabriel’s hair, cupping the back of his neck briefly before coming to rest between Gabriel’s shoulders, his thumb tracing slow, familiar lines through the thin fabric of the lavender shirt, and Gabriel’s heart stopped at his hushed, suggestive words. 

“ _ Anything _ I ask of you. You’ll do it. Won’t you…” Aziraphale leaned in close, his lips close against Gabriel’s ear as his hand kept up its subtle menace. “... my sweet dove?” 

Gabriel nodded, unable to bring himself to speak. 

Because he would. He knew he would, if - no,  _ when _ Aziraphale asked that of him. It didn’t matter how terrified he was, how desperately he  _ did not want that _ . 

If Aziraphale wanted his wings - he’d surrender them. 

It was that simple. 

Gabriel had no control over whether or not it would happen - over whether or not  _ anything _ happened. He kept very, very still under Aziraphale’s hands, resisting the impulse to resistance, and focusing very hard on suppressing the feeling of his power swelling up within him, screaming to surface, to defend his celestial corporation from this gentle violation. 

Gabriel’s archangelic power meant nothing - not once Aziraphale brought his own power into play. 

“Anything,” he whispered at last, pleading, desperate. “I’ll do… anything you ask of me, sir…” 

Aziraphale let out a pleased little hum. “Yes, I know you will,” he said softly, his free hand tracing lightly over the flame emblem on Gabriel’s shirt, before hooking under Gabriel’s chin and lifting his head to meet his eyes. His gaze was cool and calculating, studying Gabriel closely. “And what I’m asking is for you to  _ tell me _ … what do you  _ want _ , as your penance?” 

Gabriel’s heart pounded fiercely against his ribs, his mouth dry as he tried to find the right words - and found that the ones that spilled from his lips were in fact the truth. 

“I… don’t like any of them, but… I don’t want you to be angry with me,” he confessed, hoarse and desperate. “So… I want… whichever form of penance… most pleases you, sir. Just…” He broke off his words abruptly, wincing and biting his lip. 

_ No. Shut up. You’re going to make it worse, just shut your fucking mouth…  _

Aziraphale leaned in very close, his hand lifting to cup Gabriel’s cheek, stroking gently as he tilted his head up. “Just what?” he pressed softly. “Tell me, dear. It’s all right.” 

“Just…” 

Gabriel swallowed hard, closing his eyes as the heat of shame flushed his face. He felt very small, and very pathetic, but he was just  _ so scared _ , and he couldn’t bear another whipping, another punishment from the watch, another brutal reminder of all his many failings. Braced for Aziraphale’s anger, he forced out the words in a choked, halting whisper. 

“Just… please don’t… hurt me… too much, sir.  _ Please _ .” 

Aziraphale laughed, but it was a soft, sympathetic sound. He was quiet a moment - and then let out a regretful sigh as he slowly traced the lines where Gabriel’s wings might have emerged one last time before withdrawing his hand from Gabriel’s back and resting it in his hair instead. 

“I won’t,” he promised with an unsettling note of resignation in his voice. “I won’t hurt you at all, this time, I give you my word. And… I’ll choose the form your penance will take today as well, if that’s… truly  _ your  _ choice.” 

Gabriel nodded, trembling, braced for the worst despite Aziraphale’s promise - a promise from a being who could easily lie to the face of the one creature he loved most in the world - lie to his face and be repeatedly, blatantly unfaithful to him. 

The promise of a liar. 

Gabriel couldn’t trust that. 

But… Aziraphale did not like to be  _ caught _ in his lies. 

He told lies repeatedly that he knew would be kept secret, lies he knew he could enforce through vicious threats of pain that would accompany the truth coming to light. He wouldn’t craft a lie... only to expose it as one mere moments later. 

_ He won’t hurt you… unless you give him a reason…  _

As Aziraphale stroked Gabriel’s hair, quietly musing over his options, Gabriel tried to make himself relax into the touch, though he couldn’t quite suppress a shiver of apprehension. 

_ Like he said… not this time…  _

“We’ll keep it simple this time,” Aziraphale said at last, turning to give Gabriel a warm, reassuring smile. “Won’t hurt a bit. I’ll only ask you to… go back to Heaven...” Aziraphale held his gaze, a light of pleasure in his eyes at the thought as he continued. “... dressed just like this. I don’t want you to change a single thing.” 

All at once, Gabriel felt a little sick. 

He’d expected this. He’d known that once he showed up dressed this way, Aziraphale would not want to allow him to go back. But his mind hadn’t gotten past the part where he  _ pleased Aziraphale _ , where he earned the principality’s favor and a reprieve from suffering. He hadn’t gotten to the part where he actually  _ walked through Heaven  _ looking like this - hadn’t gotten to the stares, the whispers, the hushed, urgent questions stifled as he walked by. 

How would the other angels react, when they saw him like this, dressed as if he hadn’t an ounce of pride in his appearance? What would they think of him? 

But… that was the point, wasn’t it? 

He was supposed to be learning not to care. 

“Does the idea of this simple form of penance make you uncomfortable?” The question was soft, and there was no accusation, no threat in Aziraphale’s piercing gaze - only genuine curiosity. 

Gabriel knew better than to lie. He nodded, swallowing slowly. “Yes, sir.” 

“But you’ll do it, anyway,” Aziraphale declared, quiet and firm. “And my hope is that by the end of the week, it will no longer feel so strange. Your inward humility will have better aligned with your outward appearance. Yes?” 

Gabriel nodded again. “Yes, sir,” he repeated, solemnly holding Aziraphale’s gaze. 

He could see the challenge in Aziraphale’s eyes - the doubt, the suspicion that he’d fail. But - there was a certain light of hope there, too. A curiosity, as if Aziraphale was, for once, genuinely wondering whether or not he’d succeed. 

Which meant that, perhaps just this once… he  _ wasn’t _ simply setting Gabriel up to fail. 

_ Maybe… maybe he actually  _ wants  _ me to get this one right…  _

_ I’ve pleased him, this time… and he didn’t hurt me. He could have… he made that perfectly clear. He always could, but… he didn’t. Because I made him happy.  _

_ … I can do it again.  _

A sense of hope began to bloom in Gabriel’s chest, a bright warmth that felt foreign to him after so long locked away in darkness. Timidly, tentatively creeping out into the light… tiny and fragile, but  _ there _ . 

He could  _ do this _ . 

He could obey this command, carry out this penance that felt so difficult, but was really so very simple. Just maintain this image, this presentation that had so pleased Aziraphale that this time, he hadn’t even been made to take it off. He’d been allowed to remain dressed the entire time - and not hurt even the slightest bit. 

Which proved that… it was  _ possible _ . 

Gabriel could satisfy Aziraphale’s demands, could keep him  _ pleased _ , maintain his approval… and ensure that the pain and punishment of their usual sessions could  _ keep... _ not happening. 

He’d seen the challenge in Aziraphale’s eyes - and he was determined to meet it. 

_ Things can get better. You can  _ make  _ them get better. Just make him happy. Give him what he wants. _

_ Just… do as you’re told.  _

******************************************************************************************************

Gabriel did get a few odd looks on his way back to his office. 

He met them with nods and bright smiles. 

_ Nothing to see here. Still me, no matter what I’m wearing. Nothing to worry about. This is all perfectly normal.  _

It  _ was _ , now, Gabriel reminded himself grimly. His new normal.

_ It’s fine. You’re fine. Doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping him happy.  _

The other angels hesitantly returned his nods and smiles, quietly returning to whatever they’d been working on - and over the course of the next few days, Gabriel noticed that the odd looks seemed to subside. Still, he knew he was the topic of frequent conversation; he could tell by the way the conversation always seemed to  _ end _ , the moment he’d walk into a room. 

_ Doesn’t matter. Their opinions, what they think of you. Just… what  _ he  _ thinks of you. That’s all.  _

The awed, anxious demeanor he’d been used to before, on the faces of other angels - if that was a thing of the past - if they thought less of him now, well… 

He  _ was _ , wasn’t he?  _ Less _ . He was no longer the powerful, revered creature he’d once been. Perhaps it had always been half illusion and carefully constructed grand presentation anyway. Maybe he never had been what they’d all thought he was, at all. 

He’d certainly never  _ deserved _ to be. 

_ It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.  _

Gabriel remembered the feeling of Aziraphale’s hand on his back, soft fingers teasingly tracing. 

He shivered. 

If there was  _ anything _ Gabriel could do to keep  _ that _ from happening, to keep Aziraphale from crossing that line - he’d do it. 

By mid-morning Saturday, Gabriel was no longer giving much thought to what he was wearing, or the opinions of other angels, but was rather focused on the familiar countdown on his wrist - waiting apprehensively for it to change. 

But it didn’t. 

It seemed that Aziraphale was going to be true to his word. 

Gabriel spent a couple of hours in Celestial Records, enjoying the quiet solitude, before returning to his office with a stack of work to keep himself busy at his desk for a while. 

He’d just barely sat down behind his desk when he saw Michael coming down the hall. She stopped at the door and glanced in the window - then froze and stared for a long moment, frowning. Self-conscious and a little offended, Gabriel glared back at her, shaking his head, palms lifted in front of him in a silent, defensive question. 

_ What? _

She knocked sharply on his door. Gabriel sighed, bracing himself as he rose and headed toward the door to answer it. Before he could reach it, she knocked again, harder. 

“Gabriel?” she called, sounding more than a little accusing. “I know you’re in there!” 

He opened the door, meeting her suspicious gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah. I am. So?” 

She shook her head, frowning with confusion, as she strode past him into his office, then turned to face him. Her frown faded as she looked him over, and then sighed. 

“Is that what you’re wearing?” 

Gabriel looked down at his own outfit, then back up at her pointedly. “Apparently so.” 

Her frown returned, troubled. “No, I mean - to the meeting.” 

It was Gabriel’s turn to frown with confusion - until all at once he remembered and began to feel a little sick, even as she began an explanation that was by now completely unnecessary. 

“The monthly State of the Celestial meeting? Where you are supposed to address our fellow angels? Do you know what you’re going to say?” She paused, staring at him long and hard before letting out a long breath and sinking down onto the edge of the dark leather sofa against the wall. “Did you even… remember that you were speaking at all?” 

Gabriel  _ hadn’t _ remembered. At all. 

The State of the Celestial meeting had once been an annual occurrence - and usually, a rather mundane affair. The archangels would take turns officiating and inform the other angels of any matters of importance - usually nothing more than a routine report on how things were completely on schedule for the impending End of All Things. 

Once the End didn’t actually happen, the archangels had decided to have the celestial status meetings monthly, at least for the time being. Many angels seemed anxious and on edge, and the fearful looks and whispers passed about in the heavenly halls might be eased by more frequent reassurances that all was well - or at least, was going to be. 

As the leader of Heaven’s armies, Michael had given the first post-not-so-very-Apocalyptic address - immediately before the failed executions - in which she had assured the heavenly host that the traitor Aziraphale would be “dealt with” and that they would be making plans to get the Apocalypse back on track in short order. 

The following address, Sandalphon had had the dubious privilege of informing Heaven that apparently, it was not Her will for the traitor to be dealt with  _ just yet _ … and that plans for the renewed Apocalypse were… on hold. Indefinitely. 

By that point, Gabriel had already been thoroughly distracted, desperately trying to find a way out of his regular, secret meetings with said traitor. 

This month was to be -  _ Uriel’s _ turn, wasn’t it? 

Or - had they already  _ had  _ their turn, the previous month? 

They had. Gabriel vaguely remembered sitting near the back of the room while they spoke. He remembered… staring at the watch on his wrist. Waiting and wondering if and when it would change, Uriel’s voice a faint echo in the back of his thoughts, without a single word registering. 

No, this month was Gabriel’s turn, after all - his first time addressing his fellow angels since… since everything had gone to shit. 

He sank down on the end of the sofa opposite Michael, resting his head in his hands. 

“No,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I - I forgot…” 

Michael was quiet, and he could hear her stifle a sigh. After a long moment, she spoke, hesitant and dubiously encouraging. “It… isn’t difficult. Not really. You just need to be… positive, and uplifting…” 

“You should do it,” he cut her off firmly. “I’m not prepared to speak, and I’m  _ definitely _ not prepared to be…” He stopped abruptly, letting out a harsh, shaky laugh, before lowering his head into his hands again. “Nobody needs to hear anything I have to say. It should be you.” 

Through his lowered eyes, Gabriel could see Michael shift in a little closer to him. 

“Gabriel… why would you say that?” she asked, earnest concern in her soft words. “You’re Her Messenger. You’re the one who can most clearly speak Her words to the host. The rest of us - we’ve all taken our turns, and we’ve done… adequately. At best. Heaven is still… restless, and anxious. Your brothers and sisters… they need to hear from  _ you _ . They need to hear  _ you  _ tell them that… everything’s all right.” 

“But it isn’t,” Gabriel muttered, shaking his head without lifting it from his hands. “It isn’t all right at all.” He bit his lip, stopping himself before he could go any farther. 

_ Just shut up. Always talking, endlessly talking... Careful, or you’re going to say too much...  _

“I know,” Michael admitted quietly. 

She had  _ no fucking idea _ . 

“But… that’s why we need each other so much right now. To get through this… uniquely difficult time for Heaven.” 

“They don’t need me,” Gabriel insisted with dark certainty. “I’ve gotten… so many things wrong. I should just… keep my mouth shut.” 

“We  _ all _ got it wrong,” Michael reminded him. “We all have been… so confused. So uncertain. And… that’s why the  _ last _ thing you need to do right now is… keep your mouth shut. They need to  _ hear _ from you. But...” 

She hesitated, and Gabriel looked up, meeting her eyes with a dubious gaze. She winced apologetically, giving him a pointed look up and down, accompanied by a little wave of her hand, just in case he missed the pointed look. 

“... not like  _ this _ .” 

Gabriel glared at her, bitter anger swelling hot in his chest. “Because the clothes I wear are what matters most, right? Because the words I say only mean anything if I’m showing off - strutting around like a fucking peacock? I decide to start projecting an image of more humility, and that’s wrong, somehow? Because arrogance and pride are more  _ holy _ ?”

Michael frowned, visibly taken aback by his interpretation of her words. “No,” she said. “It’s not that at all. It’s just…” 

She paused, taking in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as if in preparation to say something very difficult - and Gabriel braced himself. 

_ You can’t hurt me. You have no idea…  _

“It’s not humility you’re projecting, Gabriel,” she stated, flat and matter of fact. “It’s…  _ defeat _ . You don’t look like you’ve renounced pride and embraced humility. You look like you’ve simply…  _ given up _ .” 

The words struck like a punch to the gut. Gabriel lost his breath for a moment at their sheer proximity to the truth. He looked away, staring at his own hands, folded together between his parted knees. 

“Like I said,” he replied at last, quiet and subdued, “it should be you.” 

Michael was quiet for a moment. Then she drew in a slow breath, and very deliberately moved even closer to him. He tensed at her nearness, looking up at her, dubious and suspicious. Her eyes were locked onto his, searching, filled with concern. 

“Gabriel… please let me help you,” she said softly. “I know this has been very difficult for you. Believe me, I understand…”

He let out a disbelieving, scoffing laugh. 

She didn’t. She couldn’t possibly. 

“But… somehow…” Michael continued, careful, gentle, her eyes downcast, staring down at his hands. “... it seems it’s been harder on you than on any of us. I know you’re hurting. Struggling. And… I just want to…” 

She reached out a tentative hand, surprising him when she rested it cautiously on his arm, a couple of inches above the watch which was currently counting down to Tuesday. 

It was sheer habit by this point for Gabriel to keep perfectly still under the touch. 

_ Don’t flinch; he’ll say you’re resisting. Don’t pull away; he’ll just drag you back and make it  _ hurt,  _ this time… _

Michael seemed to sense his apprehension, and withdrew her hand just a little. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Is… is this all right?” 

Gabriel sat there for a long moment - stunned to silence by the simple question. He stared down at her slim, elegant fingers, hovering a hair’s breadth from actually touching, so near that he could feel the heat prickling against his skin - but not touching, waiting for his consent. 

The watch, inches from her hand, a cruel and constant contact,  _ forced _ upon him. He could feel the ghost of Aziraphale’s harsh, grasping hands - a fist tangled in Gabriel’s hair, punishing fingers digging into injuries both old and fresh, hands pinning his wrists down against the floor as Aziraphale snarled in his ear that he’d  _ better not move _ , better not even  _ make a sound _ … 

Even when Aziraphale’s hands were gentle, Gabriel knew better than to resist them. Knew that if he rejected the offered affection, those hands would be transformed in an instant into brutal weapons that would tear into him with vicious cruelty. 

And here Michael was - so carefully respectful, her warrior’s hands restrained and waiting for permission to touch him, as she quietly, earnestly pleaded… 

… to  _ hear his voice _ . 

Even as he stared in numb disbelief, Michael withdrew her hand a little more. 

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have presumed…”

Gabriel reached out and caught her hand before she could pull it away completely, pressing it gently back to where it had been, warm and soft, against his arm. “It’s all right,” he whispered, the words coming out thick and hoarse as he closed his eyes against the hot tears that filled them. 

Michael was quiet, and Gabriel felt his face flush. This near to him, there was no way she could miss it - the tears that clung to his lashes, the emotions overcoming him. 

“Gabriel,” she said at last, hushed and unbearably tender. “I’m here. I just - want you to know that I’m here. We’re a family, Gabriel. And… your family  _ loves  _ you.” 

The words made his chest burn, an ache in the back of his throat. He shook his head, quiet and resigned as he corrected her. “You’re all disappointed with me. I’ve - I’ve failed you all, and you’re - all just tired of it. Of - dealing with my shit…” 

“No,” she insisted. “We just…  _ miss _ you…  _ being you _ . We’re worried, yes,” she admitted. “But only because you seem so… not yourself, lately. Everyone just wants to know that you’re okay. And…  _ I _ want…  _ so badly _ to help. Please, just… tell me how I can help.” 

Gabriel swallowed hard, shaking his head, despairing. “You can’t,” he whispered. “No one can. It’s impossible…”

“What’s impossible?” she pressed gently, squeezing his arm lightly and ducking her head close to his, seeking eye contact. “Gabriel,  _ nothing _ is impossible. Whatever it is, we can find a way to fix it…”

“You can’t fix it,” Gabriel insisted. “And if you try, you’ll just…” 

He fell silent, shaking his head again. After a few silent moments, Micahel pushed gently, and Gabriel could hear the troubled frown in her soft question. 

“Just what?” 

Gabriel remained silent for a while, struggling with his secret - pressing, pressing its way up from the depths of his suffering, as if clawing its way to the surface to find its way to the light of day. The thought of  _ not _ carrying it anymore,  _ not _ keeping his silence, was so desperately enticing… but Gabriel knew that he  _ couldn’t _ , couldn’t tell her, couldn’t tell  _ anyone _ …

_ If you do, you know it won’t do any good. She can’t help you. He’ll make sure of it. She’ll only… _

“Get hurt,” Gabriel admitted at last, hushed and small and fearful. “I just… don’t want anyone to… to get hurt.” 

Michael’s eyes widened with alarm, and she shook her head a little, at a loss. “Why would we get hurt?” 

Gabriel just shook his head. 

“Please talk to me,” Michael pleaded. “Gabriel… please. It can be private. No one else has to know if you don’t want them to. I give you my word, my brother,  _ please _ …”

Gabriel’s heart was racing. He knew that Michael’s word was true, and faithful. If she swore to him not to tell another living being, then she  _ wouldn’t. _ It was so very tempting, such a sweet prospect, to be able to tell her everything… to pour it all out at her feet and find support and sympathy in warm arms that would wrap around him, close and protective - and then  _ let him go _ when he asked. 

_ Maybe… she’s a warrior at heart, but she’s a general as well. She’ll want to fight him, yes, but… she won’t go rushing in without a plan… _

_ Maybe… if we take our time and come up with a plan… _

_ Maybe… _

“I want to tell you,” he admitted, his words hoarse and broken. “I just… I’m not sure I can…”

“I’m your  _ big sister _ , Gabriel,” Michael reminded him, loving and earnest, her eyes large and solemn as he looked up at her in tearful trepidation. “You can tell me  _ anything _ .” 

He wanted to.  _ So much _ . 

He gazed into the reassuring warmth in her eyes and found himself nodding. 

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, I’ll - I’ll tell you.” 

Michael nodded along with him, her eyes lighting up, bright with tears of relief, as she waited, patient and expectant. 

Gabriel faltered - the decision to speak easier than actually making the words come. He could feel the shame of the confession, even before it was made. He wanted so desperately to unburden himself from his horrifying secret… but… 

_ What will she think of me once she knows?  _

_ Will she be disgusted? Reject me?  _

He swallowed hard, eyes cast down to the place where she touched him - wondering if it would ever happen again after this conversation. 

_ Rejection might be easier.  _

_ You wouldn’t have to worry about protecting her, protecting any of them, anymore.  _

_ Or maybe… just maybe… she  _ won’t  _ blame you.  _

_ Maybe she can  _ actually help. 

Gabriel looked up to meet her eyes again, biting his lip. 

“After,” he said at last, feeling a momentary, irrational rush of relief, mingled with the shame of the cowardice of putting it off. “After the meeting. I - need to figure out what I’m going to say to them.” 

Michael frowned, troubled, lips parted as if to argue - but then she sighed and nodded. 

“All right,” she began, thoughtful. “You need to reassure them that… Heaven is still Heaven. That… not everything has changed, and that they’re still… safe. That things are going to be all right.” 

Gabriel nodded, raking a trembling hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, before looking up again to meet her eyes, shaking his head with a sad little smile. 

“How do I convince them of that… when I’m not even sure I believe it? How do I project confidence, and make them feel confident, when I’m just…  _ not _ ?” 

Michael met the question in his eyes with a warm smile. She waved her hand - and suddenly, she was holding up a beautiful suit on a plush velvet hanger. 

Soft gray, shimmering with light that seemed to be woven into the very fabric. Lavender shaded pearl cufflinks pinned into the sleeves of a deep purple shirt. A tie that perfectly matched the shade and fabric of the suit, with a thin lavender stripe the same shade as the cufflinks to tie it all together. 

Gabriel could barely tear his wide eyes from the gorgeous thing long enough to meet her hopeful, coaxing smile. 

“Perhaps  _ this _ … would be a good place to start?”


	19. Chapter 19

“You could just… skip it tonight.” 

Aziraphale made his tone low and enticing, reaching out to catch Crowley’s wrist and tug him back down beside him as he moved to rise from the sofa, sliding an arm around his waist and shifting in closer to him, making it far more challenging for the demon to get up a second time. His words were hushed, inviting, and a breath away from Crowley’s lips. 

“Just this once… couldn’t you? Just stay. Stay here and spend the evening with me.” 

Crowley laughed, even as he tilted his head back to allow better access for the angel currently kissing his way teasingly down the column of his throat. “Come on, now, angel, I’m the one who  _ taught _ you everything you know when it comes to temptation. Don’t think it’s gonna work on… _ hnngggh _ …” The capacity for actual speech failed him as Aziraphale’s fingers landed firmly on a very convincing counter-argument. 

“It’s one week,” Aziraphale pointed out, punctuating the words with another kiss to the side of Crowley’s mouth. “She’ll understand.” 

Crowley lifted his head to give Aziraphale a dubious look. “You don’t know her as well as I do,” he declared darkly. “I’ll never hear the end of it if I skip out on her last minute like this, and I really don’t think she’ll find, ‘sorry, was too busy getting shagged’ a valid excuse.” 

Aziraphale let out a heavy, dramatic sigh to make clear his disappointment, but allowed his arms to fall away, allowed Crowley to awkwardly disentangle his body from Aziraphale’s and get to his feet. He watched with resignation as Crowley moved about the room, collecting his sunglasses, keys, and jacket and getting ready to leave. 

Gabriel wasn’t coming tonight. 

Aziraphale was in for a boring, restless evening alone. 

“Perhaps I could go along, this time?” he suggested, perking up a bit at the thought. He  _ was _ a bit curious about just what went on during these “book club” meetings. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen Anathema…” 

Crowley’s back was turned to Aziraphale, but a slight falter in his step gave away his hesitation, even before he turned to face his partner with a smile that was a little too bright, leaning down to give Aziraphale a lightning-quick peck on the lips. Shades already in place, moving swiftly toward the stairs, he tossed a casual response over his shoulder. 

“Maybe next time, yeah?” 

“ _ Crowley _ !” Aziraphale called after him reproachfully. He knew he couldn’t catch up with Crowley by natural means, not at the pace he was moving. So Aziraphale snapped his fingers and met Crowley at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, a single eyebrow lifted in suspicion. “What was _ that _ ?” 

“What are you on about, angel?” Crowley protested with a nervous little huff of laughter, trying to edge around Aziraphale to the door. “Come on, I’m gonna be late…”

“She can  _ wait _ .” 

Stepping up onto the bottom step, fully blocking Crowley’s path, Aziraphale reached out a hand to carefully take the sunglasses from Crowley’s face, revealing the trapped, guilty expression in his wide golden eyes. Aziraphale felt an uneasy little tremor in his stomach at the unmistakable signs that his demon was hiding something from him. 

“Is there some reason you don’t want me to go?” he demanded, studying Crowley’s face closely. 

“ _ No _ , angel,” Crowley sighed, leaning against the banister and brushing a hand through his hair. “No, it’s not me, it’s…well…” He met Aziraphale’s eyes with a rueful grimace. “Anathema… does not exactly rank you amongst her favorite people at the moment.” 

Aziraphale drew in a sharp gasp of startled offense. “Whyever not?” 

The look Crowley gave him made a sick, unpleasant heat crawl over Aziraphale’s skin, his face flushed. He suddenly found meeting Crowley’s eyes difficult and forced himself to hold the demon’s gaze with stubborn challenge. 

“Angel… do you really have to ask?” Crowley’s tone was quiet, regretful. “Last time she saw you, it was… that night, when…” 

“Oh. Right.” 

Aziraphale lowered his gaze at last, feeling a sad, empty ache in the pit of his stomach. There  _ were _ things about that night that he regretted. He could still see the stunned betrayal in Crowley’s eyes in the moment when he’d walked into the backroom - and the way they’d glittered with tears when Aziraphale had found him at Anathema’s house later that same night. The hoarse, choked sound of Crowley’s anguish as he’d begged Aziraphale to explain to him  _ why _ . 

There were a thousand reasons, and Aziraphale was not sorry in the slightest for anything he’d done to Gabriel. 

Gabriel deserved it. 

_ Crowley _ , on the other hand - Aziraphale would forever be sorry for the devastation etched into Crowley’s beloved features that night. He couldn’t really blame Anathema, when he considered how he might have responded, if anyone besides himself had caused his precious demon so much hurt. 

That particularly wicked soul would consider _ Gabriel _ to be more fortunate than they, by the time Aziraphale was finished with them. 

“You’ve forgiven me,” Aziraphale ventured at last, quiet, a faint tremor of uncertainty in the words, glancing up into Crowley’s eyes again. 

Crowley’s expression softened, and he nodded, stepping down to share the step with Aziraphale, slipping his arms around his waist. 

“Yes.” 

Aziraphale nodded, closing his eyes for a moment with relief before meeting Crowley’s gaze again.    
  
“Can’t she?” 

“She’s my friend,” Crowley said simply, tucking his head with a little shrug, looking back up into Aziraphale’s eyes through lowered lashes. “She’s… a little protective. Wouldn’t you want her to be?” 

“Of course,” Aziraphale assured him, though he found himself feeling a little unsettled, a little defensive. “So, then… what portion of these regular evenings at Anathema’s would you say is usually spent in disparaging my name?” 

“None at all,” Crowley declared firmly - then paused. “Anymore,” he amended. “Not since I made it clear that that’s completely unacceptable to me.”

Aziraphale felt the appreciation and understanding he held for Anathema’s position fading into the background, wrestling with and losing to his rising anger and resentment. “But clearly,  _ she _ was  _ more than willing _ to…”

“If it was anyone else who’d…” Crowley stopped for a moment, drawing a breath, measuring his words. “Anyone but you, angel… you’d say she was right.” 

Aziraphale sighed, nodding, eyes downcast. 

Crowley knew him all too well. 

“She cares about me,” Crowley continued softly. “So… she worries. Worries that… there’s a chance you aren’t to be trusted. That I might... “ He swallowed slowly, something low and achingly vulnerable in his voice that tore at Aziraphale’s heart. “... might end up hurt.” 

“You won’t,” Aziraphale promised, lifting a hand to cup the back of Crowley’s head, fingers sliding soothingly through the soft, fine hair at the base of his neck. “I promise, my love. Things are better now, aren’t they?” 

“Yes,” Crowley whispered, nodding. 

Aziraphale hesitated a moment. “ _ You _ … trust me. Don’t you, darling?” 

“Yes,” Crowley repeated, looking up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, with an open, earnest gaze. 

Aziraphale nodded, letting out a soft sigh of relief. 

“I do understand,” he conceded. “You’re right, of course. I do appreciate her concern in looking out for you.” 

_ However… inconvenient it might be… _

“Perhaps I could help,” he mused, considering the possibilities. “Perhaps I could… ease her mind a bit. Alter her perception of the events just a touch? Or… the memory of them? Just enough to make her feel a little better about what happened…”

“ _ No _ .” 

Crowley’s tone was sharp, and Aziraphale was startled by the way he jolted back away from him, out of his arms and up another step on the staircase. Crowley’s eyes were wide and aghast as he shook his head slowly in horror. 

“Angel, you can’t just fuck around in someone’s head like that!” 

“Well, certainly not,” Aziraphale agreed, taking a step back himself, feeling a self-conscious heat flush his face as Crowley took the offered space and descended the stairs, rounding on Aziraphale in disbelieving accusation. “I wouldn’t put it like that, Crowley, of course I’d be very careful. I assure you our dear Anathema would be in no danger at all…” 

“No,” Crowley snapped. 

“All right, then, I won’t,” Aziraphale assured him - then frowned, troubled. “But, well - why not? We’ve altered the memories of humans before…”

“In very small ways meant to preserve their sanity after they’d seen something that shouldn’t have been possible,” Crowley pointed out. “Something they’d be better off going the rest of their lives believing to be impossible - a condition that’s not going to apply to  _ Anathema _ ever again, she  _ knows  _ what’s possible. We do a thing like that if we have to, for a human’s own good. Not for -  _ this _ .” The disgust in his voice as he waved a vague hand in Aziraphale’s general direction stung. “Not to - make them _ like _ you. Aziraphale, you can’t seriously think that’s  _ okay _ …”

“She’s worried, you said,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Upset. You want Anathema to be happy, don’t you?” 

“I want Anathema to be  _ Anathema _ !” Crowley protested. “And if you make her…  _ okay _ with what happened that night, well…” He laughed darkly, shaking his head a little. “... she won’t be.” 

Aziraphale found Crowley’s tone deeply unsettling, a defensive anger coiling tight in his chest. “That’s why I offered to help her forget instead…” 

“For the last time,  _ no _ !” Crowley declared, his voice rising, adamant in his conviction as he threw up his hands in frustration. 

“All right, all right,” Aziraphale conceded, softening his tone and taking a step toward Crowley, reaching out to take his arm - wounded when Crowley jerked away sharply. “I’m sorry, I won’t. I promise I won’t, Crowley.” 

“Bloody hell,” Crowley muttered under his breath, shaking his head. After a moment, he looked up at Aziraphale sharply. “Is  _ that _ why the archangel’s so compliant all of a sudden? Angel, did you…?” 

“Certainly not!” Aziraphale protested, offended by the suggestion - though perhaps not as offended as he’d have been if the idea had never occurred to him. “The changes he’s making are of no benefit to him unless he  _ chooses _ to change.” 

_ Far less satisfying, too - no challenge to it.  _

Using a miracle would have just been cheating. 

Not to mention the fact that Aziraphale wasn’t even certain he  _ could _ alter the mind of a being as powerful as an archangel - and he didn’t want to be found out as a fraud because of a failed attempt. 

Crowley was studying him closely, clear suspicion in his eyes. At last he visibly relented, his shoulders falling slowly as he concluded, “Well, if you wouldn’t do it to  _ Gabriel _ \- you’re certainly not going to do it to my friend.” 

“I won’t,” Aziraphale assured him. “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to upset you. Crowley, darling, I hate for you to leave like this. Please just stay home with me tonight…” 

“Won’t exactly help with the her-not-liking-you if I bail on her now,” Crowley muttered, extending his hand, expectant and impatient, for the glasses which Aziraphale had forgotten that he was still holding. “I’m already late.” 

Aziraphale surrendered the sunglasses, watching Crowley anxiously as he stalked toward the door. “Well, all right, then, love,” he said, keeping his tone as light as possible. “Have a good time, I’ll see you when you get home…”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when the bookshop door slammed hard behind Crowley’s retreating form. 

Frustrated and unsettled, Aziraphale wandered the shelves for a few minutes, picking out a few volumes to read before returning to the apartment upstairs. He made himself a steaming, fragrant cup of tea and settled into his favorite chair in the living room - only to find that none of his selections were enough distraction to keep his mind off the argument he’d just had with Crowley. His fist clenched in his lap as he thought of the anger, the disgust in the demon’s eyes before he’d  _ turned his back _ on Aziraphale and  _ walked away _ . 

Aziraphale really, _ really _ wished he hadn’t granted Gabriel a reprieve tonight. 

_ Could call for him anyway. Reset the time, give him just long enough to get here. Just long enough to choose what to use on him, what to do to him…  _

_ Plenty of reasons why he deserves it. Not that you need one.  _

_ You can do whatever you want to do to him.  _

The temptation to take back his offered mercy was even stronger than it would have otherwise been - because Gabriel was on Earth. Aziraphale had felt his arrival just a short time before Crowley began getting ready to leave for Anathema’s. 

It wasn’t the first time it had happened since they’d started having their regular meetings. Every now and then, Aziraphale would feel Gabriel’s presence on Earth, at random times completely unrelated to their scheduled penance or lessons. Aziraphale assumed Gabriel was probably running, or possibly shopping, though he wouldn’t dare to actually  _ buy _ anything at this point - not anything he particularly _ liked _ , anyway. 

It happened quite rarely these days, actually. 

Aziraphale found a ruthless sort of satisfaction in the idea that Gabriel’s former hobbies might no longer be so appealing to him as they once had been - his every moment focused around Aziraphale - what he might want, and when he might want it, and in what manner Gabriel would certainly manage to  _ fuck it up _ . 

Aziraphale closed his eyes, his fingers idly stroking the ring on his hand. 

It’d be so easy… what was one broken promise to a broken angel? 

Eventually, Aziraphale wanted Gabriel to understand that while disobedience was certain to be met with punishment - obedience was not necessarily guaranteed to be answered with mercy. Gabriel was  _ owed nothing _ from Aziraphale - no kindness, no concession that he could  _ earn _ or  _ expect _ , if Aziraphale did not desire to extend it. Aziraphale could do as he pleased with him - whether Gabriel pleased him or not. His obedience would not always spare him suffering - certainly not when his suffering was what Aziraphale most craved. 

But… that was an…  _ advanced _ lesson. For another time. 

For now, Gabriel’s good behavior needed to be reinforced. Gabriel had taken drastic measures in order to prove his submission, his obedience - and Aziraphale had to reward such behavior, if he expected it to be repeated - reinforce it until Gabriel would consider no other option but strict, perfect obedience. 

_ No. I can wait.  _

_ Tuesday is just a couple of days off… _

Perhaps Aziraphale could get away with slipping some form of physical penance into the evening’s activities. If he was careful, Crowley would have no idea; Gabriel had learned well to keep quiet by now. 

_ One thing’s for sure and certain - he won’t be getting another free Saturday for a good long while.  _

Aziraphale sighed, opening his eyes to return his rather scattered attention to his book. 

Gabriel was kneeling on the floor at his feet. 

The archangel was bowed low, dressed in the same clothing that had so pleased Aziraphale on Tuesday - the dark blue jeans and lavender shirt, its tiny flame emblem concealed somewhere between Gabriel’s heart and his knees. The shirt’s material was thin enough that Aziraphale could clearly see each breath he drew, dragged into his lungs in rapid, shallow sobs. His hands were folded in front of him against the floor in silent supplication, inches from Aziraphale’s shoes. 

He was trembling. 

Aziraphale wondered for a moment if he was imagining things - and then for another if he might have accidentally called Gabriel after all, altering the time left on the watch by sheer force of his own desire. But no - the countdown in his mind was just the same as it had been before - right on schedule for Tuesday evening. 

Gabriel had just -  _ shown up _ , on his own. On an evening when Aziraphale had told him he didn’t have to be, here he was anyway - humbled and offering himself at Aziraphale’s feet. 

By his  _ own choice _ . 

Aziraphale felt a momentary rush at the thought, a warm sense of approval bordering on affection - until he realized, with a chill of apprehension at how terribly wrong this could have all gone. 

Gabriel had just…  _ shown up _ . 

_ In his apartment. Crowley _ could have been there. 

If Aziraphale had had his way, Crowley  _ would _ have been there. 

Aziraphale took a moment to set his expression, replacing softness with disapproval, readying his face into taut lines, to convey just how very  _ unacceptable _ this was. He set aside his book and shifted forward to the edge of his seat, leaning down and reaching out a gentle hand to lift Gabriel’s head up toward him. 

Gabriel easily yielded to his touch, obediently moving with his hand, lifting wide, panicked eyes to meet Aziraphale’s stern gaze. Aziraphale brushed a hand through his hair, stroking soothingly, keeping his tone solemn, gently reproving. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

Gabriel flinched, nodding under Aziraphale’s hand. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry…”

“Here, in  _ my home _ ,” Aziraphale continued with quiet severity. “Uncalled for. Uninvited.”

“I know,” Gabriel repeated, head bowed in shame. His breath hitched as he struggled to get his words out. “I - I waited until - Crowley left. I - made sure he was gone before - I…” He stopped, drawing in a shaky breath and then blurting out through tears, “I’ve sinned. I - I need to confess.”

Aziraphale blinked. 

Well.  _ That _ was certainly unexpected. 

He frowned, an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. As distraught as Gabriel appeared, as distressed as he must be, to have come here like this unbidden - just what exactly had he  _ done _ ? Aziraphale glanced uneasily toward the stairs. Was Gabriel’s sin that he had told someone - one of the other archangels, perhaps - everything? 

Were the angels of Heaven headed toward the bookshop at that very moment, intent on avenging their brother? 

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale asked softly, “Are we in any danger, right now?” 

Gabriel was quiet for a long moment, the only sound his soft, ragged breaths. At last he whispered, despairing, “ _ You _ aren’t.” 

Aziraphale nodded, suppressing his sigh of relief, and allowing himself a little smile at the rather enticing implications of Gabriel’s answer. 

He had just been wishing for a reason to call Gabriel to him - a way to vent his frustrations - without spoiling the lesson on the benefits of obedience. 

Gabriel’s  _ disobedience _ was just the thing to allow for both. 

He cupped the back of Gabriel’s head gently, smiling at the feeling of the archangel’s quaking under his touch. 

“I’m happy that you’ve chosen to confess,” he said quietly - then tightened his grip on Gabriel’s hair, relishing the way Gabriel gasped with alarm, his trembling lips taut as he braced for pain, but offered no resistance. “I’m  _ not  _ happy that you’ve come  _ here _ . Intruded in my home without permission. You are  _ not allowed _ to come up here, Gabriel… not unless I’ve specifically instructed you to do so. Is that perfectly clear?” 

Gabriel tried to nod, closing his eyes against the tears that slid down his face. “I’m sorry…”

Aziraphale eased his grip, fingers softly rubbing away the sharp sting left in its wake. “Go down to the backroom,” he instructed softly. “Prepare to confess your sins and receive your penance. I’ll be along shortly.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Gabriel struggled a bit to get up from his knees, his body huddled low even as he stood, as if in a vain attempt to somehow make himself lower than Aziraphale, still seated. 

Aziraphale simply watched him go with cool patience, and then settled back in his chair for a few minutes longer, finishing what was left of his tea and lingering to allow Gabriel’s anxiety time to grow - though it hardly seemed necessary. 

He considered his approach, weighing his options. He tamped down the eagerness born of his frustration with Crowley. He could certainly justify administering punishment - and he had every intention of administering it - but perhaps this was a situation that called for a somewhat  _ gentler _ hand than usual. 

Gabriel had come of his own free will to confess… whatever it was he’d done. 

This was exactly the sort of behavior that Aziraphale wanted to encourage. 

At last he set aside his tea and descended the stairs at a slow, measured pace, well aware that Gabriel could hear his leisurely approach, amplifying the archangel’s dread with every step. He took his time as he neared the backroom door, taking a slow breath to steady himself, to fortify his patience, before opening the door and stepping inside. 

He stopped short at the sight that met his eyes. 

Gabriel was quite as he’d expected - naked, on his knees on the floor, quaking with terror. He’d even gone so far as to position himself almost directly beneath the bar hanging from the ceiling - as if offering himself up for punishment. 

And directly behind him, the clear cause of that impending punishment hung from the bar - a beautiful suit in a soft shade of silvery gray. It was real human work, Aziraphale could tell, despite the celestial light woven through it - exquisite by any standard, very much the sort of thing Gabriel would have chosen for himself to wear…  _ before _ . 

Visually, it was a very pretty, appealing scene. . 

Aziraphale felt a rush of  _ fiery rage _ swell up in him at the sight. 

“I’m so sorry,” Gabriel whispered, choking back tears, shaking his head in despair. “I tried, I - I didn’t want to, I - I’ve failed you…” 

The precise nature of his sin was immediately, perfectly clear. 

What was less clear to Aziraphale was exactly why Gabriel would come to him, and admit his sin, when if he hadn’t, Aziraphale might never have known at all. 

Of course… Aziraphale had led Gabriel to believe that he had used the ring to track his movements, to know where he was at all times. He’d used subtle clues the archangel hadn’t even realized he’d given up, read Gabriel’s body language and between the lines of his words to figure out things that Gabriel had no idea how he knew. 

Even now, in the archangel’s wide, desperate eyes, Aziraphale could read the fearful question. 

_ How much do you already know?  _

Aziraphale was more than happy to provide an answer to - the answer that best served his purpose, and brought Gabriel even more deeply under his control. 

He closed in on the kneeling, trembling archangel, crouching down to face him. He reached out to touch Gabriel’s wrist, allowing his fingers to drag slowly across the face of the watch... watching Gabriel’s face as he flinched, shaking his head, silently pleading, though he didn’t dare pull away. Aziraphale kept his voice soft, sadly knowing - as if he’d only been waiting for this moment. 

“I’ve been wondering if you’d come to me… or if I’d have to come for you.” 

************************************************************************************************

_ Gabriel couldn’t take his eyes from the beautiful gift Michael was offering him - not nearly as enticing to him as it once would have been, but still… stunning. Without really intending to, he reached out a hand to touch the soft fabric, pressing it and feeling its silken slide between his fingers, the soft glow of the Heavenly light woven into it pleasantly warm against his skin. _

_ He frowned, shaking his head a little with wonder.  _

_ It felt… real. It wasn’t a miracle. But… _

_ “I visited that little shop in Italy you liked so much - I went there with you once… what was it? Fifty years ago?” Michael mused, giving him a warm smile. “It’s changed some, but it’s still there, and… I thought this seemed like something you would like. I did have a few modifications made once I got it here. The light… because… that’s what you are to the host, today, Gabriel. A shining beacon of light. Of hope.”  _

_ Gabriel felt a little sick, his heart racing with apprehension.  _

I can’t do this. I’m not what she thinks I am. I can’t do this... 

_ “You’ll feel better with it on,” Michael said, hopeful and encouraging. “More yourself. And just seeing you like this again will inspire confidence in the host.”  _

_ Gabriel swallowed slowly, his words coming out thick and slow, mired in his own uncertainty.  _

_ “I - I don’t know if I can…” _

_ “This is how they’ve always been accustomed to seeing you,” Michael reminded him. “If you give your address to the host, dressed as you are now… it will be difficult for them to focus on your words. You may be trying to present a humbler appearance, but Gabriel…”  _

_ She indicated the suit, holding it within his reach, nodding eagerly until he took the hanger from her hands, draping the garment over his arm and staring down at it in confused uncertainty.  _

_ “This is less distracting. This is comfortable and familiar to them. And to you.” She offered him a warm smile. “Right?”  _

_ “Comfortable” was not a word Gabriel would have used to describe the suit - not anymore.  _

_ But… he knew that she was right.  _

_ It would serve to emphasize his encouraging words - eliminate the distraction of his “new look”, the wary uncertainty he saw in the eyes of his fellow angels when they passed him in the halls, dressed as he was now.  _

It’s not about pride. That’s not why you’d be doing it. You are  _ truly  _ putting that suit on for the well-being of Heaven. 

And Aziraphale won’t give a single flying fuck why you did it. Only that you  _ did it _ . 

You can’t. You can’t do this. 

Tell her no. Give it back. 

Give it the fuck back. 

_ “And… after your address… when the meeting is over… then we can talk,” Michael reminded him softly. “I’ll meet you back here. Whatever it is that’s been troubling you these past few months… we’ll sit down, you and I, and we’ll figure out a way to fix it. All right?”  _

_ Gabriel stared at the suit.  _

_ Just a couple of hours, a simple speech, and one  _ very _ difficult conversion from now… there could be a solution to his situation. If anyone could help him, he knew it would be Michael. No angel in Heaven possessed greater might, greater power than she did. They could come up with a plan. She could help him.  _

_ He could be free.  _

_ The voice screaming in his head to say no, to give the suit back, was drowned out by the desperate hope of freedom.  _

_ “I’ll give you some time to prepare,” Michael offered, giving his arm one last gentle squeeze as she rose to her feet. “And I’ll come back just before the meeting. All right?”  _

_ Gabriel nodded, overwhelmed to silence.  _

_ He hung the suit on the doors of his wardrobe, and sat down behind his desk, scribbling some notes as he went over what he wanted to say in his mind. What would be most comforting, most reassuring, to the angels left confused and bewildered by the failure of what they had believed to be Her plan?  _

_ His thoughts were distracted every few minutes by the beautiful suit, and the way it caught the light… and as ever, by the watch on his wrist. His apprehensive eyes were repeatedly drawn to it, waiting for the countdown to change, for Aziraphale to make his opinion known on the matter. Gabriel would have to run for the elevator. Michael would have to give his address, unprepared and on the fly.  _

_ Gabriel would suffer unimaginably for even thinking about putting that thing on - thinking about telling Michael… anything.  _

_ Between every line or so he managed to get down, Gabriel glanced at the watch.  _

_ The countdown on his wrist remained the same.  _

_ Aziraphale wasn’t calling for him. Aziraphale wasn’t appearing in Heaven to punish him.  _

If he heard our conversation… if he knows what I said, then… wouldn’t he already be here by now? 

He doesn’t see everything. Doesn’t know everything. 

He - he doesn’t have to know about  _ this _ . 

_ His address as prepared as he was going to get it, Gabriel took the suit from its hanger and carefully put it on. The fit was sheer perfection, as if it had been made only for him - and really, he supposed, it probably had been. He opened his wardrobe door and stood back a little, looking into the mirror inside.  _

_ He winced a little, feeling extremely self-conscious.  _

_ He looked like a fucking beacon, all right - shining too bright to ignore. All eyes would be drawn to him as long as he was wearing this. Everyone would be focused on whatever he had to say.  _

_ He went back to his desk and went over his notes again, scribbling out a couple of lines and filling in others to take their place.  _

_ Michael just beamed when she saw him dressed in her gift, her eyes glistening with tears.  _

_ “There you are,” she said softly. “Gabriel, you look wonderful. Everyone is going to be so happy when they see you looking like yourself again.”  _

_ “Yeah,” he nodded, glancing uneasily toward the hallway as they moved toward the door. “I guess so.”  _

_ Everyone seeing him. Watching him, hanging on his every word.  _

_ It used to be a thing that felt right and natural and satisfying to him.  _

_ It was easier now just to be invisible. He’d gotten used to it.  _

_ Michael stopped just inside the door, waving a hand toward the window. “So, you’ll take down that illusion now?” she asked with gentle exasperation. “Now that you’re coming out of your self-imposed hiding?”  _

_ Gabriel stopped short, frowning with confusion. “What?”  _

_ “The illusion you placed on your window, Gabriel,” Michael sighed. “To make it appear that you’re away from your office? Yes, I noticed it, but only because I saw you walk in earlier. Then when I got close to the window, you just… weren’t there.” Her expression softened with understanding. “We all need each other, Gabriel. Hiding yourself away from the world - it doesn’t help anything.”  _

_ Gabriel’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of what she was saying, bewildered and confused - until it finally clicked into place.  _

_ Aziraphale.  _

_ He’d placed an illusion on Gabriel’s window, ensuring that no one could see him in Gabriel’s office… or Gabriel on his knees, sucking him off.  _

_ And he’d left it there when he returned to Earth.  _

_ Why? So that Gabriel would not have to face the shame of having his situation known to Heaven? No, that was unlikely. Aziraphale seemed to think that shame was an appropriate state for Gabriel to reside in.  _

_ So… for his own benefit? Perhaps he did still have a little shame over what he was doing to Gabriel? Wouldn’t want his fellow angels to know about the vicious acts he took such pleasure in inflicting?  _

_ Aziraphale’s cruel, ice blue eyes flashed through Gabriel’s mind - a smile of cruel delight beneath them, his mouth twisting with satisfaction as his hands grasped and twisted and  _ took _... finding pleasure in Gabriel’s pain and humiliation.  _

_ No.  _

_ No... that wasn’t it.  _

_ Aziraphale had made it perfectly clear at every opportunity how completely convinced he was that Gabriel deserved every bit of the suffering he was made to endure - deserved the pain, the humiliation.  _

_ Did  _ not _ deserve the love of Heaven.  _

He did it to deliberately isolate you. To keep other angels from your door. 

Angels like Michael, who might have offered to help a long time ago. Who might have cared so much more than you thought… all this time. 

Angels who might try to do something to stop him. 

_ Michael was still looking at him, expectantly glancing toward the window. Gabriel offered her a distracted smile, shrugging a little as if caught in some small self-indulgence. He waved a hand in front of the window, and - yes, when he felt for it, he could detect the magic stretched across it, an invisible force of tension in the air surrounding it. He snapped his fingers, instantly un-making the illusion.  _

You shouldn’t have done that. He left it there for a reason, he won’t like it. You’ll only need to put it back, after. 

After, you’re talking with Michael. You’re figuring out a plan. You might not have to worry about Aziraphale anymore, _ after _ . 

_ He was approaching the podium. He had to put all of this out of his mind and focus on his address.  _

_ He’d figure all of this out. After.  _

_ Standing before the host of Heaven again - it felt strange and a little uncomfortable. But there was a certain familiar thrill to it as well. Hundreds of surprised, admiring eyes taking him in, drinking in the breathtaking glow of his appearance. Their attention remained raptly focused when he began to speak - every word soaked up like water in a desert.  _

_ As he went along, the nervous tension thrumming in his chest gradually eased. His words, tentative and soft at first, gained strength and conviction as he continued to speak, focusing on the attentive, anxious faces of his angelic brothers and sisters, all eyes turned to him in search of hope, in search of answers. _

_ Aziraphale was there, too - a derisive voice in the back of his mind, sneering at word choices that could have been better, at any slight hesitation, repeating in his thoughts again and again how ridiculous he looked, how utterly unworthy he was to be standing there.  _

Stop. 

I won’t hear you. Not now. 

They need me - they’re all that matters right now. 

_ “We have no reason for fear,” he told them with confidence he didn’t quite feel - but he deeply wanted to instill it in them, to ease their fears and give them peace. “No, things have not gone as we expected that they would. But She knows better than we do. She is the Almighty. So if this world is still here, it’s because She wills it. Nothing can happen unless She allows it, so therefore - this  _ is _ Her will.”  _

_ Gabriel felt a sick little twinge of uncertainty as the words passed his lips.  _

She allows it. She’s been allowing… all of it. Why? 

Because it’s Her will. Because you deserve it. Every moment of the punishment and shame. 

Still mired in your pride and arrogance… still drinking in the silent, rapt praise in their eyes… __

_ “All we need to do is be faithful and - and  _ obedient _ ,” he assured them, the word feeling thick and heavy in his mouth, his stomach churning. “We’ll wait for Her to act, or give us further instruction. In the meantime, we’ll simply stay the course, and take comfort in knowing that anything and everything that happens - to Earth, to Heaven, to each one of us - is fully within Her control.”  _

_ He stepped down from the platform and left the stage to thunderous applause - and it felt like an accusation.  _

You don’t deserve it. And yet you’ve managed to draw their adoration once again, haven’t you?

Vain. Arrogant. Unworthy. 

_ He returned to his office while Michael stepped up to the podium to take questions. He knew she wouldn’t be too far behind him.  _

_ Angels in general didn’t ask too many questions.  _

_ His own mind was flooded with them.  _

Shouldn’t you be practicing what you’re preaching to them? Patience? Obedience? 

If this is Her will for you - should you really be fighting it? Talking to Michael? Trying to escape Her plan? 

_ Gabriel sat down on the sofa, his head in his hands, gasping for breath as his anxiety began to overwhelm him, flooding over him and sweeping him under.  _

Unless… 

_ The word in his thoughts like a lifeline just out of reach, he desperately grasped it and clung to it.  _

Unless… it’s Her will for Michael to help you. 

Maybe it’s finally enough. Maybe She’s ready to take you back. 

_ It was difficult to focus with the brilliant sparkles of light emanating from every inch of the garment he wore - like a beacon, glowing, drawing the attention of anyone within sight.  _

He’ll find you. 

_ Gabriel’s heart lurched with dread.  _

Aziraphale. 

_ Gabriel lifted his eyes and stared out the window into the hallway beyond it.  _

_ Aziraphale had left an obscuring illusion on that window - an illusion that Gabriel had shattered as if it was nothing.  _

He’ll be so angry. You’d better put it back. He’ll find out, and he’ll be furious. He wanted it there. 

Wanted you isolated from the rest of Heaven. 

_ Because… Aziraphale had something to hide? Did he actually care what Heaven thought about him, or… or how they might retaliate, if Gabriel told them what he’d done? Aziraphale had to have  _ some _ weakness, didn’t he? He  _ wasn’t  _ the Almighty, and only She was truly immortal, right? So… there had to be some way to defeat Aziraphale, something or someone in Heaven that he was afraid to face?  _

Doesn’t matter. If it exists, you haven’t found it yet. Don’t have the first fucking clue. 

He still has all the power. __

_ The watch could be used to track Gabriel’s movements, Aziraphale had so gleefully informed him during his visit the previous week. Aziraphale knew where he was at all times. Aziraphale had placed an illusion in his office and left it there for more than a week, without Gabriel’s knowledge.  _

_ Gabriel raked a hand through his hair, then rested his head in both his hands, gasping for breath that came with greater difficulty as the panic swelled up to fill his chest.  _

What other measures - other miracles - has he put in place to watch you? To control you? 

What else don’t you know about? 

He could be listening… watching. Could have been in that crowd just now… 

Just because he’s not right here this moment kicking the shit out of you for your defiance doesn’t mean he’s not just biding his time… planning your punishment… 

He knew when you ignored the watch, and he didn’t come for you immediately. 

Didn’t mean he didn’t know. 

Shit, what if he knows, what if he  _ already knows _ what you did? 

Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . 

_ Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the casual outfit that had so pleased Aziraphale was back on his body, Michael’s suit hanging once more from the doors of his wardrobe.  _

_ He couldn’t bring himself to look at it again - wished he could forget the thing existed at all.  _

Too late, idiot. What were you thinking? It’s done, and you’re a fool to think he wouldn’t find out. If he’s not here now, it’s because he’s _ not _ worried. He’s  _ not _ scared - of Heaven, or Michael, or anyone. Because he can destroy any and all of them with a single breath. 

Burn it all down around you. 

Burn them all down. 

_ Michael’s hopeful, earnest smile flashed through his mind, followed by a rush of panic.  _

She can’t help you. She’ll try… and she’ll burn for it. 

_ Gabriel knew with perfect clarity in that moment - he couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t put her at risk like that.  _

But you already have... haven’t you? 

If Aziraphale knows… 

_ Gabriel had to get to the bookshop. Had to tell Aziraphale what he’d done, before he found out for himself.  _

_ If it wasn’t already too late for that.  _

Go to him, and give him your confession… before he comes here and drags it from you. 

And destroys anyone who attempts to get in his way. 

_ Gabriel glanced up toward the window again.  _

Put his miracle back. Before he…

_ The thought died incomplete, when Gabriel saw Michael coming down the hall toward his office.  _

_ Panic seized him, and he did the only thing he could think of to avoid the conversation he knew she wanted to have - knew he  _ couldn’t _ have.  _

_ With a snap of his fingers, he removed himself from his office, placing himself just outside the elevator doors. There were still angels milling about, talking amongst themselves in tones of quiet excitement - and none of them seemed to notice him. At least his Aziraphale-approved casual outfit didn’t glow like a fucking bonfire, drawing unwanted attention. He was easily able to board the elevator and head down to Earth.  _

_ He had the space of a fifteen-minute ride. Fifteen minutes in which to try to come up with the right words to explain - try to come up with some reason that Azirpahale would understand and find valid. A reason that would convince him to show mercy.  _

_ Fifteen minutes in which Gabriel only managed to drive himself into a further state of panic as he mentally rejected one useless excuse after another, Aziraphale’s scathing, furious reasons for why they were  _ not good enough _ echoing in his thoughts.  _

_ It was Saturday. Book club night.  _

_ Gabriel waited across the street from the bookshop until he saw Crowley leave - and then waited a few minutes longer to be sure that Crowley hadn’t forgotten anything, wouldn’t be coming right back.  _

_ Then, with nothing else to wait for, no plausible excuse to delay him any longer - Gabriel crossed the street to the bookshop door and slipped inside.  _

_ Aziraphale was not in the shop. The lights were low, the large front room dim and empty.  _

_ Gabriel stopped at the base of the stairs; at the top, he could see the faint glow of light coming from underneath the closed door. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, heart racing in his throat. He steeled himself, making his decision and making his way quietly up the stairs.  _

_ This couldn’t wait.  _

_ If Aziraphale was already planning his punishment, Gabriel wanted to do anything in his power to interrupt those plans - to give Aziraphale his repentance, his contrition, before Aziraphale could forcibly drag it from him.  _

_ He found Aziraphale sitting in his chair, to all appearances calm and composed, relaxing with a book spread open across his lap.  _

_ It meant nothing, Gabriel knew - this peaceful demeanor.  _

_ Aziraphale was skilled at concealing his moods - and his moods could shift in an instant.  _

He knew you were coming. 

He knows everything you do… say… 

Every time you fail. 

He’s been waiting for you. 

_ Gabriel went to Aziraphale and fell to his knees at his feet, quiet and still as he waited for his acknowledgement - for his permission to speak.  _

_ His mind spun with confusion, overwhelmed with questions and uncertainty he didn’t dare give voice. He didn’t know how much Aziraphale already knew, or what he intended to do about it.  _

_ The only thing of which Gabriel was certain at all was that he was  _ so, so sorry _.  _

_ *********************************************************************************** _

_ “I’ve been wondering if you’d come to me… or if I’d have to come for you.”  _

Gabriel’s heart sank. 

The softness, the sympathetic regret in Aziraphale’s words was little comfort. 

_ He knows. Of course he knows.  _

He shivered in the chill of the room as Aziraphale stroked his thumb across the face of the watch, silently waiting, studying Gabriel’s face. 

“I’m so sorry,” Gabriel whispered, drawing in a sharp, shuddering breath. “Please, I - it was only for an hour…” 

Aziraphale lifted his hand from the watch to snap his fingers, and Gabriel flinched violently, braced for pain. Instead, he found himself all at once clothed from head to toe in the suit again. His stomach lurched with dread, and he anxiously pulled at the sleeves, shaking his head, instinctively trying to lower his body to make himself smaller before Aziraphale, crouched down beside him. 

“I don’t want it,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Please, I don’t want it…”

“You wanted it enough to put it on, though, didn’t you?” Aziraphale’s tone was light but sharp. “So let’s see this stunning piece of work that drove you to disappoint me after a mere  _ four days _ , shall we?” Aziraphale rose to his feet and took a step back, beckoning with his hand. “Stand up,” he commanded, a subtle taunt in his words. “I want to be sure I get the full effect.” 

Gabriel shook his head, tears burning in his eyes. “No, I…”

“I said  _ stand up _ .” 

Aziraphale cut him off, low and warning, the light tone of his words vanishing into quiet, disgusted accusation. 

Gabriel struggled to obey, shaking nearly too hard to manage it. Somehow he got to his feet, his shoulders bowed forward, head low, hand wrapped anxiously around his wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, uselessly, miserably. 

He forced himself to keep perfectly still as Aziraphale circled him, slow, predatory, running his fingers lightly down the sleeves of the jacket, sliding a hand down the middle of Gabriel’s back, cupping the curve of his ass for a moment before coming around to face him. Aziraphale lifted Gabriel’s wrist in his left hand, the right reaching to touch the cufflink pinned through his sleeve. He allowed his wrist to fall and stepped in closer, using both hands to adjust Gabriel’s tie. 

“It  _ is _ quite exquisite work. Very impressive,” Aziraphale admitted, smiling - but his eyes were hard and bright with anger, his tone deceptively soft. “Don’t you just look… so very powerful, and commanding.” 

Gabriel swallowed, shaking his head, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to,” he pleaded. “I -  _ didn’t _ want to, please…”

“But…?” Aziraphale prompted softly, leading. 

Gabriel had hoped for a chance to explain - and now that he had it, his words felt useless and empty. They fell from his lips stammered and stumbling. 

“The… state of the celestial address, it’s… it was my turn, and - and Michael said - she gave - she - wanted me to…” 

“Oh, I see.” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, thoughtful, as he slid his hand down the length of Gabriel’s tie, then raised it to smooth his lapel. “So... it’s Michael’s fault, then, is it? It’s her I should be having this conversation with. Not you. Perhaps I should go pay her a visit.” 

“No,” Gabriel pleaded, shaking his head. “No, please, don’t… don’t hurt her, she was… was only trying to help, she didn’t do anything, it’s my fault…” 

“It seems she’s the one who set this temptation before your eyes, isn’t she?” Aziraphale pointed out. 

_ He was watching. Somehow he knew. He always knows.  _

_ Why did you ever put that thing on?  _

_ God, you are so  _ fucking stupid. 

“She… she didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to,” Gabriel insisted, desperate to spare Michael the consequences of his failure. “She was just - trying to help me, she was - worried about me…”

“Was she.” Aziraphale’s tone hardened with disapproval, and Gabriel shivered with dread. “Perhaps you think she’s the one you should be listening to, now. She’s the one who should be instructing you? Teaching you? Do you think she knows better than I do?” There was a note of jealousy in the words that set a chill in Gabriel’s blood. “Perhaps you ought to be offering your penance to  _ her _ .” 

“No, I - don’t want that,” Gabriel insisted, his voice trembling with his desperation. “Please, I - I know you know best, it wasn’t - wasn’t like that…” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “Yes,” he declared quietly at last. “Yes, I think I’ll go and see Michael. Have a little discussion with her, since she’s  _ so very concerned _ with what’s  _ best  _ for you, shall I?” 

Gabriel’s heart sank at the knowing edge he heard in Aziraphale’s words. 

And he’d been so worried that Aziraphale knew about the stupid fucking  _ suit. _

“Please don’t… please, sir...” 

The words came out in a desperate sob, and he tried to go back to his knees, to plead with Aziraphale for mercy for his sister, who’d only tried to help him. But Aziraphale gripped his arms and held him up, refusing to allow it, drawing him in closer, his eyes intent and piercing as they locked onto Gabriel’s face. 

“Please don’t hurt her,” Gabriel sobbed, “please, I didn’t tell her anything, I swear I didn’t…” 

Aziraphale went very still and very quiet for a long moment, his grasp tight on Gabriel’s arms. Then he wrapped one hand tight around Gabriel’s throat, dragging him in and speaking very close to his ear, the words low and clipped and trembling with rage. 

“Do  _ not. Lie _ to me.” 

“I’m not, I’m not,” Gabriel choked out, frantic. “I almost did, I’m sorry, but… I didn’t tell her anything, she doesn’t know anything, I swear, _ please _ …” 

Aziraphale was quiet again, considering for a moment, before he eased his grip on Gabriel’s throat, sliding his hand around to the back of his neck, heavy and oppressive. 

“You came very near, though, didn’t you? Very near to allowing your selfishness… your pathetic self-pity and your need for attention… to put her in danger. Because if she comes after me, Gabriel, if she decides she needs to stop me from meting out your punishment…” He paused, letting out a heavy sigh and concluding softly, “... well, my dove, I’m afraid we _both_ _know_ how that ends.” 

Gabriel shuddered, cold dread consuming him at the thought. “Please, she won’t come after you, she doesn’t know it has anything to do with you. She - she asked what was wrong, what I’m - hiding, but - I didn’t tell her. I said I would, but I didn’t, I came here instead, and I won’t tell her, please, I swear I won’t, don’t hurt her, she didn’t do anything wrong…” 

“Shh,” Aziraphale soothed him, pressing two fingers lightly to Gabriel’s lips and stilling his frantically rambling words. “I know… I know…” 

As Gabriel gasped for breath against the force of his panic, Aziraphale gently stroked his hair, cold eyes filled with cruel intent over a bright smile.

“Believe me, sweet dove…” he said softly. “I know _ exactly _ who’s to blame.” 

***************************************************************************************

Aziraphale could feel Gabriel trembling in his grasp, could feel the downward pull of his body as he desperately wanted to go to his knees, to plead, to express his regret - to somehow avoid the punishment he  _ knew _ he was owed. 

Aziraphale would not allow it. Not now. Plenty of time for that later. 

And oh… he was going to  _ take his time _ . 

By his own admission, Gabriel had nearly  _ told Michael everything _ . 

It was a terrifying thought, how very near Gabriel had brought him to destruction - because Aziraphale knew Michael better than to think that she would  _ ever _ stand by and  _ allow _ the suffering he’d been inflicting on Gabriel for the past few months. She might believe her chances of victory to be nearly non-existent, but still - she would not hesitate to attack in defense of her brother. 

And if she did, well… …then  _ Aziraphale _ would be the one who was non-existent - obliterated from the face of the planet. 

The momentary terror he’d felt when listening to Gabriel’s accidental confession had slowly imploded into  _ molten rage _ \- and Aziraphale knew one thing with perfect clarity. 

This would never... _ ever…  _ happen again. 

Crowley would be home in a few hours. 

By the time he arrived, Aziraphale wouldn’t even be  _ close _ to done with Gabriel. 

_ But that won’t be a problem. Crowley won’t even know he’s here.  _

_ He won’t dare another word… not a  _ single sound _ … when I’m finished with him.  _

Aziraphale eyed the sparkling suit with disgust. 

He  _ couldn’t wait _ to deconstruct this image of false perfection that Gabriel had  _ dared  _ to take onto himself once again. 

Piece by piece. 

He took Gabriel’s wrist, lifting it in one hand to unfasten the cufflink, then allowing it to fall so he could take the other one as well. Gabriel was pitifully, desperately compliant, moving easily with Aziraphale’s hands, his lips trembling as if he wanted very badly to say something more - but wisely, he kept his silence, for the moment. 

Aziraphale ignored him, examining the pair of cufflinks in his hand. 

“So  _ very _ pretty,” he remarked, before focusing a fierce glare on them, allowing the power of his fury to flow through it and heat the metal and pearl until it melted in his hand - then crumbled to ash and blew away. Finally he met Gabriel’s wide, pleading eyes. “Meaningless disguise,” he declared, cold and disdainful. “A flashy bit of distraction from how very lacking, how very  _ disappointing _ you are, in all ways that  _ truly _ matter.” He gripped Gabriel’s hair, yanking it sharply until he bit back a pleading whimper, leaning in close to bite out a scathing indictment. 

“I am a  _ useless disappointment _ .” 

Gabriel closed his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath, nodding. “I-I’m a… useless disappointment,” he echoed, breathless with fear. “Please, I…” 

Aziraphale silenced him with a casual backhand blow. 

Gabriel bit his lip and closed his eyes as Aziraphale caught his wrist again - but then opened them again, staring in surprise and alarm as Aziraphale grabbed the watch and tore it roughly from Gabriel’s wrist. 

“Matches your lovely suit quite well, doesn’t it?” he sneered. “I never should have made such a concession for your vanity. I can clearly see how much respect it’s earned me. How very deeply you  _ appreciate _ my gift. It only left you with a taste for more, didn’t it?” 

Gabriel shook his head in desperate, terrified denial. “I do appreciate it,” he insisted, shaky, confusion in his eyes and in his words. “Please, I - I do… I don’t… n-need anything else…” He reached out toward the watch with a faltering hand. 

Aziraphale knew Gabriel didn’t  _ actually  _ want it back. 

He _ hated _ the thing. 

What he wanted was to please Aziraphale - and he was failing quite miserably at that. 

Aziraphale drew the watch out of Gabriel’s reach, pocketing it, before seizing Gabriel’s arm and jerking him in close, his voice low and menacing next to his ear. 

“Don’t you _ dare _ try a thing like that again. You  _ keep still _ .” He softened his tone, drawing back enough to meet Gabriel’s terrified eyes with a false smile. “Or I’ll  _ burn _ these clothes off you… and I won’t stop there.” 

Gabriel went perfectly still, eyes downcast. “Yes, sir,” he whispered, barely over a breath. “I’m sorry…” 

Satisfied that he’d made his point, Aziraphale eased his grip, reaching up to touch Gabriel’s face. He smiled when the archangel flinched, expecting another slap. 

“Besides,” he remarked casually, “you won’t be needing it, my dove. Not for a long while.” He snapped his fingers, and the cuffs appeared, connected by a thin bronze chain and dangling from his fingertips. “I believe I quite prefer you in  _ these _ , for now.” 

Gabriel just stared at them until Aziraphale twitched the fingers they hung from in an impatient gesture, and then hurried to take them. Aziraphale stepped back, waiting as he struggled to put them on with trembling hands. Another time, under different circumstances, he might have offered to help, Now, he simply watched with cruel amusement and vicious satisfaction at Gabriel’s rising panic in the face of his failure to obey the simple command he’d been given. 

At last he got the cuffs on, gasping and stumbling a little as his access to his celestial powers was cut off - and Aziraphale breathed out a silent sigh of relief and satisfaction. 

He wasn’t quite sure Gabriel would be able to keep his powers under control and not lash out - not with what Aziraphale intended to do to him. 

Aziraphale looked over Gabriel’s remaining ensemble thoughtfully, though he already knew what would go next - the tie. 

Though, it wasn’t going far. 

Aziraphale removed it, examining it appreciatively for a moment before reaching up to tie it over Gabriel’s eyes. 

Gabriel gasped, his bound hands clenching into useless fists. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, sir, please don’t…” 

Aziraphale struck him again, with his fist this time, then hauled him in close with a tight grip on the knot at the back of his head when he staggered back under the force of the blow. 

“I believe everyone’s had quite enough of your mouth for one day, don’t you think?” Aziraphale snapped, the words cold and clipped. 

Gabriel nodded, a hitching sob catching in his throat before he bit his lip to silence himself. 

Aziraphale slid his hands around Gabriel’s waist under the jacket - slow, suggestive, possessive - enjoying the taut, trembling feel of his captive’s body through the thin fabric of his shirt - then slid them back around to the buckle of Gabriel’s belt. He unfastened it and slid it free of the belt loops, then wound it around one hand and stretched it taut, considering his options. 

He studied Gabriel, speculative - taking in his unsteady, shuddering breaths, increasingly rapid with panic. 

An angel’s corporation didn’t strictly  _ need _ to breathe. But Gabriel’s corporation was bound, his celestial essence locked away by the hellfire cuffs, buried down deep where he couldn’t reach it - where it couldn’t ease the pain Aziraphale chose to inflict. He’d hurt like a human… grow weary like a human, the longer he wore them - possibly even to the point of sleep. 

An activity Aziraphale was fairly certain Gabriel had never experienced in his eternal existence. 

And as for breathing, while not strictly a necessity, Aziraphale suspected that, right now, it very likely felt like one. 

And he was very intrigued at the prospect of testing his theory. 

As he slowly circled Gabriel, he made a loop of the belt, waiting until he was standing behind the archangel to drop it around his neck and pull it tight. The remaining length of the leather was wound around Aziraphale’s own fist, and he jerked hard on it. Gabriel stumbled backward toward him, his bound hands flying up toward his neck, uselessly struggling to get a grip on the smooth leather flush against his throat. Aziraphale only pulled it tighter, shaking Gabriel hard with the fist that held the end of the belt. 

“ _ Stop fighting _ .” 

At the sound of Aziraphale’s voice, a menacing hiss in his ear, Gabriel went rigid, visibly struggling to control his own survival instincts. His fists were clenched, white-knuckled, inches from his throat, lips forming a silent, constant litany of desperation. 

_ “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, please…”  _

Aziraphale ignored him, only loosening his grip on the end of the belt in order to cast it over the bar hanging from the ceiling, and then yanking it tight again, his lips twisting in vengeful satisfaction when Gabriel choked and reached up toward his throat again. 

Aziraphale grabbed the chain that connected the cuffs, jerking it down and winding the end of the belt around it. He snapped his fingers, and the leather and bronze fused together, holding Gabriel in place, the belt connected to his wrists at one end and his throat at the other, suspended across the bar.    
  
Gabriel stumbled as Aziraphale released him, then seemed to relax a little, the length of the belt allowing him enough slack to draw breath. 

And well,  _ that  _ simply wouldn’t do. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers again, and the leather hanging across the bar grew shorter, until it was pulled taut against Gabriel’s throat again, his wrists pulled up higher as well. Gabriel was shaking, gasping, clearly terrified - not daring to question, or even speak at all. 

He still could have, though, had he tried. 

So, no. Still not enough. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers a third time, and the chains suspending the bar drew up sharply shorter, higher, until they were only a couple of inches from the ceiling, and Gabriel was forced onto his toes in a desperate effort to ease the tight restriction of the belt against his throat. Aziraphale helped, lifting his wrists a little higher, above the level of his head. 

“There, you see?” he said, hushed and soothing. “Keep them up like that, and you’ll be able to breathe. Yes?” 

Gabriel was still for a moment, not daring to pull away from Aziraphale’s hands on his arms, gasping for breath - but visibly less panicked as he realized that he  _ could _ breathe again. He was still trembling violently with fear and exhaustion. Aziraphale knew it wouldn’t be long before the exertion was too much, and Gabriel wouldn’t be able to hold his hands up high enough anymore. His arms would drop, and the belt would choke him again. 

An impossible predicament, an endless agonizing cycle of Gabriel lifting his hands in order to breathe, and then needing to rest them, again and again. 

It was a delightful prospect, but not one Aziraphale had the patience for at the moment. 

He still wasn’t finished. 

“Now,” he said softly. “About the rest of this… paltry disguise.”

He trailed a hand down the length of Gabriel’s spine through the very soft, luxurious fabric of the jacket, enjoying Gabriel’s shiver. 

“Whatever shall we do about  _ that _ ?” 

He took his gloves from the drawer and put them on before carefully retrieving the whip. He held it in one hand as he slid both hands under Gabriel’s jacket again, shifting in close. Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat with alarm at Aziraphale’s sudden nearness. 

“Your selfishness, Gabriel… your incessant need for attention,” Aziraphale said softly, as he used his free hand to unfasten Gabriel’s pants. “... has brought this upon you…” 

He slid his hand beneath the soft fabric, allowing his touch to linger a moment between Gabriel’s legs, in the sort of suggestive caress he’d never really employed before - a sort of touch with which Gabriel would be completely unfamiliar. He leaned in close, as his fingers brushed lightly over the parts of Gabriel’s body that no one else had ever touched, smiling at the way Gabriel tensed at the contact, and murmuring a hushed, teasing question in his ear. 

“Is this enough  _ attention _ for you, my dove?” 

The panicked, choked whimper that escaped Gabriel’s lips - all the more sound he could make with his breath so restricted - made it clear that he  _ definitely  _ understood what Aziraphale was playing at. His fists clenched, straining against their bonds, pulling instinctively downward - to cover himself? To fight? Aziraphale couldn’t be sure. 

But the downward motion pulled at the belt around Gabriel’s neck, and he choked, desperately raising his trembling hands up until he could breathe again. 

“Shh,” Aziraphale soothed him, relenting and withdrawing his invasive touch, and instead resting his hands at Gabriel’s hips, steadying him. “Be still. Struggling will not benefit you in any way. I’ll do as I will with you, yes?”

Gabriel shuddered, but he nodded desperately, his breathing shallow and increasingly frantic. 

Aziraphale smiled. 

Fucking Gabriel like this would certainly provide an even greater challenge to his breathing. 

An appealing thought - but no, Aziraphale decided as he looked over what was left of the archangel’s ensemble. The shirt and jacket remained relatively untouched. Aziraphale’s mouth twisted with vindictive resentment. He wanted to  _ shred _ that beautiful suit - and the beautiful angel wearing it. 

There would be plenty of time later for… other pursuits. 

Still holding the whip in one hand, Aziraphale used both hands to slide Gabriel’s pants down, allowing them to pool around his ankles - allowing the whip to brush against his thigh, against his ass, on the way down. 

Gabriel’s feet slipped a little as he let out a choked, plaintive little cry of pain. 

“Quiet,” Aziraphale instructed him softly. “I don’t want to hear a sound.” 

Gabriel nodded unsteadily, his arms lurching upward as he struggled to catch his breath - then almost immediately drifting lower, trembling with exertion. 

Aziraphale smiled grimly.

Gabriel was already exhausted. 

And Aziraphale had barely even touched him. 

He set to work with the whip, aiming several blows in succession at the delicate fabric of the suit that covered Gabriel’s back. Those blows did little damage to the flesh underneath, just rocking Gabriel’s body a little with the impact - but the sound of the delicate garment ripping to shreds was immensely satisfying. 

And when it was no longer satisfying _ enough _ , Aziraphale aimed a particularly vicious blow at the backs of Gabriel’s knees. 

The archangel’s legs buckled, and the belt choked him, his bound hands grasping uselessly at nothing, his feet sliding against the floor as he struggled to regain his balance and get back to his feet. 

Aziraphale helped him, gloved hands gentle on his sides as he pulled him back up onto his feet and steadied him, lifting his arms to allow him to breathe for a few moments. 

“No, don’t, please…” Gabriel gasped out. “... no more, please, I’ll… please don’t...” Desperate, half-formed pleas continued to spill from his lips, until Aziraphale placed his gloved hands on either side of Gabriel’s face, stilling him, shushing him softly. 

“I know it’s difficult to believe… but you  _ can _ actually make this worse, Gabriel,” he informed him softly. 

Gabriel went very still in his grasp, a fine tremor shaking his weary limbs as he struggled to regain his composure, to be quiet. 

“Are you  _ going  _ to make this worse?” 

Gabriel shook his head, biting into his lip, desperately silent. 

“Good,” Aziraphale said, stroking his cheek affectionately before letting him go and stepping back. 

He gave Gabriel a few more moments to breathe - and then continued to rain down brutal blows, alternating his attention between the increasingly tattered suit and Gabriel’s exposed lower body. 

Gabriel tried. 

Aziraphale knew that he did. He tried so hard to be quiet and still - but Aziraphale deliberately focused his efforts on driving the startled, agonized cries from Gabriel’s lips - catching him by surprise with viciously aimed blows until he was sobbing with every hard-won breath, gasping out pleas and apologies. 

They only earned him more pain. 

It didn’t really matter whether each individual blow was intended as punishment for Gabriel’s hoarse, broken voice, or for the now unrecognizable suit that still hung from his bloodied body. 

Aziraphale did not intend to stop until there was nothing left of either. 

Between Gabriel’s breathless, keening cries and his own breath heavy with exertion, Aziraphale almost missed the quiet creak of the backroom door. 

_ Almost.  _

The moment it registered, he whirled around to see Crowley standing there, just behind him, staring. 

It was an echo of a memory from months earlier - Crowley standing there, eyes wide with hurt and disbelief, bewildered shock and devastation. Tears flowing down the face of a heartbroken demon, shaking his head in denial, unable to believe what his angel had done. 

This time, there were no tears. Crowley’s face didn’t fall, didn’t crumple with the pain of betrayal. 

His face went hard, golden eyes blazing with cold fury. 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale breathed out in stunned horror. 

Behind him, Gabriel let out a soft, breathless sob. 

Aziraphale could hear unmistakable  _ relief _ in the sound. 

Seething rage crept in under the edges of his shock and dismay, and he wanted to spin around and strike again, to punish Gabriel for taking any sort of satisfaction at all in Aziraphale’s misfortune. His hand twitched around the handle of the whip. 

_ No. Crowley.  _

“Wait, wait, love…” Aziraphale objected as Crowley took a backward step toward the backroom door. “... just let me explain, it’s not what you think…”

Crowley just shook his head, disgusted, a mirthless smile touching his lips at the familiar words. 

“Fuck you, angel,” he spat out, bitter and accusing, before turning on his heel and walking out. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'd just like to give a shout out and much deserved credit to my dear friends, Dacelin, Latromi, and pearlescent - whose contributions to this story go far beyond beta reading. It's really become such a collaborative thing between the four of us - thanks for beta reading, but also for your incredible ideas and long hours of discussion planning this story. It wouldn't be possible without you <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Also, thanks to all of you for your lovely, thought-provoking comments. I've so enjoyed reading them recently, the discussions that have sprung up in the comment threads - takes me right back to Repossession days ;) 
> 
> <3 <3 <3

Crowley didn’t quite make it to the front door. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t  _ intend _ to leave. He  _ most definitely _ did. 

Fury drove his pace - fury at his angel’s deception, fury that  _ burned _ in his chest with the fierce, hot sting of betrayal - of being played for a fool  _ yet again _ , by the one he loved and trusted more than any other being in the universe. Crowley  _ had _ to walk away in that moment, had to get as far from Aziraphale as he could manage as quickly as possible… because if he didn’t, he wasn’t really sure what he would do. 

He wanted to lash out - to strike the whip from Aziraphale’s hands, to strike the wide-eyed expression of false, all-too-convincing innocence from his face. He  _ hated _ the angel in that moment, as deeply as he loved him - hated Gabriel, too, for Aziraphale’s seemingly irresistible fascination with him. 

But it was impossible to maintain any real feeling of animosity toward the archangel - not with the vivid image of that - well, _ infernal  _ was really the best word to describe that bloody nightmare setup that Gabriel was trapped in. Even though an angel -  _ Crowley’s angel _ \- had devised it, it was a truly inspired cruelty that would have been perfectly in place in the deepest bowels of Hell. 

But… the  _ pieces _ … each of the individual parts that Aziraphale had  _ put together _ in order to inflict maximum torment on Gabriel... 

Crowley raised a hand to rake through his hair, gripping a handful and shaking his head in a vain, helpless attempt at denial. He already knew the truth. 

_ Credit where it’s due, Crowley… _

_ That’s all you. _

The cuffs Crowley had made, that held the archangel helpless… the whip touched with Hellfire that had burned and torn Gabriel’s flesh until he could barely stand... the gloves that protected Aziraphale from the force of his own vicious rage. 

_ Don’t be modest.  _

_ He couldn’t have done it without you.  _

Crowley couldn’t walk out the bookshop door - couldn’t run from this, or hide his eyes - no matter how desperately he wanted to. 

_ Go back in there. Take a good look at your handiwork. Put to such good use.  _

No matter how Gabriel had wronged Aziraphale, or anyone else, Crowley knew with certainty: 

He  _ did not _ deserve  _ this _ . 

Couldn’t possibly. 

Crowley remembered that moment in the elevator - the sense of satisfaction he’d felt when the archangel had knelt at his feet, shaking with tears in his eyes, pleading for mercy. 

Frightened. Humiliated. Desperate. 

How Crowley had  _ savored _ it, at the time. 

The memory made him  _ sick _ with shame. 

But despite the pleasure he’d taken in bringing Gabriel low, Crowley had  _ never _ wanted it to come to  _ this _ . 

_ Should have seen it coming. Should have known.  _

_ Anathema knew, tried to warn you, tried to get you to take the blinders off… and like an absolute bloody fool, you refused.  _

Crowley hadn’t wanted it. Hadn’t meant for it to happen. And yet, the truth remained. 

It was happening  _ because of him _ . 

_ You paid lip service to your disapproval, while supporting and facilitating his every move, at every turn. Turning a blind eye and ignoring every single glaring, flashing-red-lights spelling out DANGER, warning sign - until it’s literally right in your face.  _

_ For all your efforts not to… now you’ve seen it. _

_ Can’t just walk away. _

Crowley closed his eyes, fist clenched at his side, steeling himself. 

_ Go back. Do something. _

He took a deep, shaky breath, and turned back toward the backroom - just as the door opened, and Aziraphale stepped out. His eyes were wide and solemn, but his shoulders fell as a soft sigh of relief passed his lips - no doubt at finding Crowley still there. As Crowley watched, Aziraphale firmly shut the backroom door, then waved a hand across the handle. A brief flare of light followed the gesture, and the air around the door seemed to shimmer for a moment before vanishing - though Aziraphale’s power remained, like an invisible wall. 

He’d sound-proofed the room. 

“Is that for him, or for me?” Crowley demanded, his voice trembling with angry accusation. “So he can’t hear our conversation - or so I can’t hear him scream?” 

Aziraphale grimaced. “He’s… not exactly capable of screaming at the moment,” he pointed out quietly, with a note of rueful reluctance. 

“You need to go back in there and let him down,” Crowley declared, pointing toward the door. “Angel, that’s - that’s just…” He shook his head. “I’m a  _ demon _ , and that’s…” He gave up on finding a word to encompass his horror and disgust, and instead reminded Aziraphale, “You said you wouldn’t hurt him anymore.” 

“Unless he gave me good cause to,” Aziraphale corrected softly. 

Crowley had not missed the loophole when Aziraphale had first initiated it. He’d noticed it - and then promptly chosen to ignore it. For the sake of their relationship, for the sake of keeping the peace. 

_ For the sake of blissful ignorance. You selfish coward. _

Crowley hated that he’d allowed this loophole, allowed so many other loopholes and technicalities to convince him to ignore his better judgment. He hated that he’d spent so many months allowing Aziraphale to talk circles around him with his carefully chosen words, until Crowley was so caught up in well-phrased half-truths, tangled excuses and weak explanations that he wasn’t really sure  _ what _ exactly he’d agreed to, anymore. 

_ Time to open your eyes...  _

Aziraphale took a slow, cautious step toward Crowley, one hand extended in a soothing gesture - as if he were attempting to calm a skittish animal, seconds away from bolting at a single wrong move. 

_ And, well… yeah. Okay, fair.  _

“Crowley… I can’t let him go right now,” Aziraphale said, quiet but firm. “There’s a reason, for all of this, and… I just need you to listen to me…’

“All I’ve been  _ doing _ is listening to you,” Crowley snapped, frustrated and angry at the tears that blurred his vision, jerking away as Aziraphale’s hand brushed his arm. “How long have you been  _ lying to me _ ?” 

“I haven’t,” Aziraphale insisted, in that same infuriatingly calm, level tone. 

“How many times have you used that sound-proofing trick?” Crowley wondered all at once, staring at the door and shaking his head slowly. “How many times have you been with him in that room while I was upstairs - none the wiser, assuming you were down here just… cross-referencing, or something?” 

Crowley wasn’t really sure what cross-referencing even  _ was _ , and didn’t really care. 

He knew it was a  _ thing _ , and a thing that sounded just stuffy and bookish enough to apply to Aziraphale. 

Or… perhaps not, anymore, he realized, a cold shiver creeping down his spine as he studied Aziraphale’s cool, composed demeanor. 

The angel was  _ completely _ in control. 

There was not a trace of shame in the ice blue eyes that solemnly searched Crowley’s face - worry, yes, but not the familiar flustered anxiety Crowley had always found so endearing. Aziraphale’s hands were steady and still - no fidgeting, no stammered, hurried attempts at explaining in  _ just precisely the right words _ to make Crowley understand, to convince him that he was right. 

_ Aziraphale _ was convinced that he was right. 

And suddenly… that seemed to be all that mattered to him. 

God, what Crowley would have given to have his stuffy, bookish angel back. 

“I haven’t,” Aziraphale repeated softly. “Not since we first discussed the situation, Crowley, and you asked me not to. Not to use the sound-proofing - and not to have him here when you weren’t.” 

“But… clearly you have,” Crowley concluded, nodding toward the backroom. “When I’m not here. Book club nights. Every time? Or…” He shook his head, trying to process, trying to work it out. 

With every detail that fell into place in his mind, he felt more foolish and heartbroken. 

“You’d think you’d learn better, though.” He gave Aziraphale a cold, brittle smile through his tears. “Twice I’ve come home early - and twice I’ve caught you in the act.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley, no,” he argued. “This isn’t like that, not like… last time...” 

“Oh, don’t  _ tell _ me you’re not fucking him, angel…” 

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Aziraphale insisted, indignation in his tone as he added, “I wasn’t then, and I’m not now! I  _ haven’t _ !” 

“Bullshit!” Crowley snapped, gesturing toward the backroom door, the vivid, unwelcome image filling his mind of Gabriel’s body, strung up and helpless and nearly naked, just beyond it. “I know what I saw…”

“You think you do, and I can understand why,” Aziraphale conceded, nodding slowly. “But it truly wasn’t what it looked like, Crowley.” He met Crowley’s eyes with a sad, rueful smile. “I was punishing him, yes, but I didn’t… fuck him.” 

Crowley stared at him in silent disbelief. 

Aziraphale sighed, his smile fading. “You’re welcome to check if you like. He’s unlikely to stop you.” 

Crowley’s stomach lurched dangerously, and he swallowed back the knot in his throat. “That’s not funny.” 

“I’m not joking.” Aziraphale’s tone was quiet, without a trace of humor. His eyes locked onto Crowley’s, filled with an arresting certainty. “I’m not fucking him. Though… it’s certainly not for his lack of trying.” He paused a moment, drawing in a breath before explaining with a note of regret, “He came here tonight, unbidden, uninvited… walked right upstairs, into  _ our home _ … intent on seducing me..” 

Crowley blinked, stunned. “ _ What _ ?” 

Aziraphale nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so. Dressed in his finest. Offering me… himself. In any way I liked. If I’d return to Heaven with him. It seems he conceived of a scenario in which… he would vouch for me with the others, get them to agree to accept me… back into the fold, as it were… in exchange for my using my…  _ mysterious powers… _ ” Aziraphale punctuated the words with a dramatic wiggle of his fingers that called to mind his dreadful magic act. “... to his benefit. To assist him in gaining greater power and influence in Heaven.” 

Crowley frowned. “What’s greater power and influence than you know…  _ being an archangel _ ?” 

“A troubling question, indeed.” Aziraphale gave him a dubious, knowing look, nodding slowly. “And it seems, one Gabriel’s been giving some thought to.” 

Crowley shook his head slowly, trying to process this new information and make it fit with the behavior, the demeanor he’d witnessed from the archangel over the past few months.

And… it simply  _ didn’t _ . 

Yet again, Crowley’s mind went back to the unpleasant image now seared indelibly into his brain, of Gabriel when Crowley had walked into the backroom. 

_ Dressed in his finest… _

That explained the blood-stained, but still shimmering fabric of the pants pooled around Gabriel’s ankles, and the jacket hanging in shreds from his back - the glowing, Heavenly light that seemed to be woven through the very material. 

_ Except… _

“Doesn’t make sense.” Crowley shook his head. “He decides to put the moves on  _ you _ … and he goes with the whole ‘I’m the prettiest archangel’ get-up? Complete with extra  _ sparkles _ ? He  _ knows _ you  _ hate _ that shit, how stupid  _ is _ he?” 

“Apparently...” Aziraphale sighed, pursing his lips, rolling his eyes. “...  _ quite _ .” 

Aziraphale’s absolute confidence in Gabriel’s stupidity did nothing to allay Crowley’s suspicions. 

“He got  _ that far _ before you stopped him.” Crowley studied Aziraphale’s face closely, watching for any hesitation, any sign that might betray his deception. “Half naked. Just… walked in and started… stripping down.” 

“No,” Aziraphale admitted ruefully. “No… I did that.” 

Crowley’s jaw clenched, and he waited in stony silence for Aziraphale’s explanation. 

“As I said, he… made his offer. Tried to convince me to… to leave this place… leave  _ you _ … and go back to Heaven with him. He was...” Aziraphale looked away, a faint flush in his cheeks, a trace of the anxious, self-conscious angel Crowley had fallen in love with in his eyes. “... well, quite…  _ aggressive _ in his approach.” 

The hot coil of jealousy in Crowley’s chest tightened. 

“Of course I rejected his offer, and made it quite clear that his behavior was completely unacceptable,” Aziraphale continued. “I ordered him to take his offensive overtures and get out of our home. To… to come down here…” He nodded toward the backroom door. “... and… await consequences. And… I decided that a part of those consequences should be being made to… expose himself, for a more…  _ thorough _ whipping.” 

Aziraphale looked down at the floor for a long moment, before looking up to meet Crowley’s eyes, solemn and unapologetic. 

“I felt that the punishment should suit the crime.” 

Crowley was silent, his mind reeling as he tried to process what he was hearing. 

Aziraphale ventured closer to him, his words hushed and urgent. “Crowley, he wanted me to leave you, to - to  _ choose him _ .” 

He reached out a cautious hand to touch Crowley’s arm, and this time, Crowley didn’t pull away. 

“My love, he deliberately chose the  _ one night  _ he knew you would not be here… came, arrayed in all his glory. A living symbol, I suppose, of the splendors of Heaven that could be mine… if I’d forsake any connection with Hell… with  _ you _ … and return to Heaven with him.” 

Aziraphale’s hand slid down Crowley’s arm to entwine with his fingers, lifting their joined hands between them, and with the gesture, drawing Crowley’s gaze up to meet his eyes. 

“Surely you _ must  _ understand, my love,” he said softly. “You must know that I  _ could not _ allow him to think I would tolerate such a thing.” 

Crowley stared at their joined hands, quiet and still as Aziraphale shifted in closer, sliding his free arm around Crowley’s waist. He shook his head, swallowing slowly. 

“Why?” 

Aziraphale blinked, shaking his head a little. “ _ Why _ ?” he echoed in disbelief. “Crowley, I  _ love _ you…” 

“Why would he do it?” Crowley clarified, meeting Aziraphale’s bewildered eyes with a solemn, searching gaze. “Doesn’t sound like him,” he pointed out. “After… everything, doesn’t seem like he’d want that. Want…  _ you _ .” 

“Well.” Aziraphale winced, his hand in Crowley’s jerking a little, as if suppressing the impulse to pull it away. “Can’t say  _ that _ doesn’t sting a bit.” 

Crowley felt more satisfied than sorry. 

“You’ve hurt him. Humiliated him. I’d think he’d want to - pay you back in kind, not - not…” At a loss, he allowed his words to trail off. 

“I suspect it’s the power he thinks I have that he wants, rather than me, personally,” Azirpahale admitted, quiet a moment before adding, cautious and measured, “And yet… it  _ is _ the second time he’s made such an offer.” He looked up at Crowley with large, earnest eyes. “I’ll always be sorry I accepted the first time. This time - I denied him in no uncertain terms. I’m  _ yours _ , Crowley. Only yours, you  _ must know _ that…”

“Something… doesn’t fit,” Crowley insisted. “He’s been - all right, maybe not  _ okay _ with things as they are, but - better. Accepting of the situation, at least. Submissive.” The word passed his lips with difficulty, settling an uneasiness in Crowley’s stomach. “That he’d just, out of the blue, show up to try to seduce you…” He shook his head slowly, studying Aziraphale’s face closely for some sign, some sort of answer. “Doesn’t add up.” 

“No,” Aziraphale agreed, quietly, steadily holding his gaze. “No, it doesn’t, does it?” 

“So… you’re saying…” Crowley frowned. “ _ What  _ are you saying?” 

“His submission, his acceptance of my guidance - seems as if it’s all been an act,” Aziraphale stated with a heavy sigh. “A facade, to allow him to get… closer to me. And to the power that he craves.” 

Crowley considered that for a moment, thinking over his observations of the past several months. 

“Bloody convincing act,” he muttered, doubtful. “Wouldn’t think he’d be clever enough to pull it off.” 

“You mustn’t underestimate him, Crowley,” Aziraphale chided, concern creasing his brow. “He’s calculating and manipulative.” He let out a soft, sad laugh, shaking his head with a weary sigh. “Honestly, an underhanded scheme of this sort seems far more in character, to me, than genuine repentance. At any rate - we need to know.” 

He glanced toward the backroom door with grim resignation in his eyes and in his voice. “That’s why I’ve got him in that… extremely unpleasant position. Why he’s going to stay there a while,” he explained. “So I can compel him to tell me the truth. Find out just how long he’s been - playing us.” He grimaced, looking back at Crowley with apologetic eyes. “Playing  _ me _ ,” he amended. “And… whatever else he may be hiding.” 

Crowley looked toward the closed door, a heavy knot in the pit of his stomach. “Can’t tell the truth _ or _ a lie, like that. Can hardly draw a breath…”

“It’s meant to give him cause for reconsideration,” Aziraphale explained carefully. “Cause… and time. He’s just received a rather severe whipping. He’s locked into the hellfire cuffs… which become more intensely painful with every minute he wears them. As you say… he can barely draw breath.” He looked up at Crowley, solemn eyes searching for understanding - acceptance if not approval. “We leave him there… just like that, for a while, and… when I return to speak with him again, I expect I’ll be much more likely to hear the truth from his lips.” 

Crowley  _ hated _ the idea - but he could see the logic in it. 

He might have hated the idea a bit  _ more _ , he had to admit, if not for the vivid image Aziraphale’s words had painted in his mind - the image of intense violet eyes, smoldering over a knowing, suggestive smile as the archangel slowly closed in on his angel, backing him up against the wall, hands reaching out to touch. In this nightmare fantasy in Crowley’s head, Aziraphale was much like his old self, the angel Crowley had fallen in love with - flustered and anxious, resistant to Gabriel’s advances and highly offended at the very  _ suggestion _ . 

And maybe just a  _ little bit... _ tempted to say yes. 

Crowley’s fist clenched at his side, his jaw set with resentment as he glared toward the backroom door. 

“ _ Crowley _ .”

Crowley didn’t respond until Aziraphale released his hand to instead gently cup his cheek, firmly turning his eyes away from the door and back toward Aziraphale. Once he’d established eye contact, Aziraphale shook his head firmly. 

“You needn’t involve yourself, darling. I have this fully under control. We only need to… _ leave him alone _ . That’s all.” Aziraphale shook his head. “Believe me, darling, I’m as offended by his actions as you are - but trust me, he’s paid for them, and he isn’t finished paying for them. All right?” 

Crowley nodded slowly, though his concerns were far from assuaged by Aziraphale’s reassurances. 

“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?” Aziraphale suggested with a warm smile, using his arm around Crowley’s waist to turn him toward the stairs. “Relax a while. Talk, if you like. If you’ve any questions about…  _ anything _ . Yes?” 

Crowley didn’t agree to it, didn’t answer at all. He wasn’t sure what to believe, at this point. Aziraphale’s explanations made a certain kind of sense, but there were doubts… tiny pieces that didn’t quite seem to fit… nagging at the corners of Crowley’s thoughts, tugging his mind back toward the backroom, even as Aziraphale moved to lead him away.

He just needed a minute alone, just needed to  _ think _ …

Aziraphale let him go at the base of the stairs, touching his face with a warm, reassuring smile as he said, “Give me a moment, love. I’ll just have a quick word with him, and then I’ll join you upstairs.” 

Aziraphale went to the door, waving his hand across it to remove the soundproofing and then unlocking it. He glanced up toward Crowley - freezing for a moment in clear surprise to find Crowley standing just beside him - arms crossed, expectantly waiting. 

No way in Heaven or Hell or anywhere else Crowley was letting Aziraphale “have a word” with Gabriel alone. 

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, but then smiled - a bit tight, a bit reluctant - but still nodding toward the door as he opened it, as if to invite Crowley inside ahead of him. 

Gabriel was in visible, obvious distress. 

He was gasping in deep, rapid breaths, his bound wrists lifted over the level of his head, for the moment - though they were violently trembling with the effort. He was exhausted - wouldn’t be able to keep them up for long, clearly. Even as Crowley watched they began to fall, and the belt around Gabriel’s neck went taut, pulling him up higher onto his toes. He choked and gasped, hands clenching with panic as he struggled to lift them again, struggled to pull air into his lungs. 

It was a psychological illusion, Crowley knew. 

Gabriel could not asphyxiate to death. 

But his body was weakened by the cuffs, rendered nearly human, and in that moment - his body  _ believed _ it needed oxygen to survive. The physical pain from the beating, his strained position and sheer weariness, worked in concert to fuel his panic, making each breath more quick, more shallow, and less efficient than the last - leaving him even more firmly convinced that his state of imaginary peril was  _ very, very real _ . 

It was incredibly, _ unspeakably  _ cruel. 

_ He tried to take your angel from you. Tried to convince your angel to leave you.  _

_Your angel… who came up with_ this. _Is_ capable... _of_ _this_ … 

Crowley shivered at the cold in Aziraphale’s eyes, locked onto his as he approached Gabriel. The hand that had so gently cupped Crowley’s cheek now snatched a handful of Gabriel’s hair and wrenched his head back sharply. 

Blindfolded, Gabriel could not have anticipated the harsh contact - the painful sting, the way it tugged the belt tighter around his neck and rocked him nearly off his feet. A choked, plaintive whimper escaped his lips. 

Aziraphale’s hand tightened in his hair, yanking it harder as he snapped, “ _ Quiet _ .” 

Gabriel swiftly stifled the sound, his bound hands clenched into helpless fists. 

“Good.” Aziraphale’s tone softened at his compliance, though his grip remained firm and unyielding, holding Gabriel in place as he leaned in close to speak next to his ear - the words low and warning, but still clearly audible. 

“I’ve had a talk with Crowley,” he informed Gabriel. “And he understands why you’re here - what you’ve done to deserve this.” A cold smile touched the corner of his mouth as he met Crowley’s eyes and added, deceptively soft, “Naturally… he’s very upset.” 

That much was true. 

As for the rest - Crowley wasn’t sure who exactly he was upset with, or what Gabriel deserved, or sure that he understood  _ anything at all _ , really. 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel gasped out, turning his head just a little, presumably in the direction he believed to be toward Crowley. “Please… I’m sorry…” 

He had to have  _ done something _ , hadn’t he? To be so sorry? 

Crowley didn’t know whether to feel reassured, or further unsettled, by those implications. He remained silent, arms crossed, watching unhappily as Aziraphale jerked hard on Gabriel’s hair, and the archangel bit his lip, stifling his desperate errant words. 

“You’re not,” Aziraphale stated, cold and accusing. “But you will be, my dear.” 

The dark certainty of intent in Aziraphale’s hushed words sent an apprehensive shiver down Crowley’s spine. 

“You’ll be staying just like this for a while,” Aziraphale explained to Gabriel, his hand at last softening in his hair for just a moment before he let go. “To allow you time to consider your actions. And then… we’ll talk again.” 

He trailed a hand down, casually cruel, over the livid lash marks that scored Gabriel’s back, and the archangel shivered, choking back a wordless, pleading sob. 

“In the meantime,” Aziraphale continued, his hand stilling over one particularly deep slice, singed black just above the base of Gabriel’s spine. “Crowley and I  _ do not _ wish to be disturbed. Do you think you can manage that?” 

Gabriel nodded desperately. He was shaking violently, his entire body taut with the tension of his helpless position, as well as the unspoken threat in Aziraphale’s soft touch. At last Aziraphale withdrew his hand and moved around to stand facing Gabriel. 

“If you can’t,” he said, his soft words incongruous with the way his hand sharply grasped the chain between the cuffs and yanked it downward, pulling Gabriel nearly off his feet and choking him, “I can always help you to stay quiet. Are you going to make that necessary?” 

Gabriel shook his head frantically. 

Aziraphale pulled down harder, his quiet voice like cold steel. 

“ _ Answer _ .”

“No, sir,” Gabriel gasped out, his voice nothing more than a hoarse rattle of breath. “I’ll be quiet… please, I’ll be quiet…”

Aziraphale held the chain a moment longer before finally letting go, and Gabriel drew in a sharp, unsteady gasp as he fought to lift his weary, trembling arms high above his head again. 

“Very good.” 

Aziraphale let one hand slide idly down the length of his arm, patting it lightly as he turned away from him and back toward Crowley with a regretful grimace, accompanied by a careless little shrug. 

_ Can’t be helped. Brought it on himself. Has to learn.  _

Crowley stared at Aziraphale as he approached and put his arm around him, turning him and ushering him out of the backroom, then turning to lock the door behind them before giving Crowley a sad, sympathetic smile. 

There was an unholy light in his eyes, the faint glimmer of pleasure and satisfaction behind the false regret. Crowley had seen it spark in his eyes when he touched Gabriel… felt him shiver under his hand... heard the panic in his strangled, desperate pleas. 

_ He likes it.  _

_ Maybe there’s a reason for what he’s doing… maybe even a good one, but… he  _ likes _ doing it.  _

It was a moment of clarity, of certainty that Crowley desperately wished he could give back - could unknow. 

In that moment, there was nothing that Crowley recognized, nothing of the warm and familiar, of his love reflected back in the face he knew so well. 

Aziraphale was a stranger to him. 

“Come, love, let’s have a drink,” he suggested, taking Crowley’s hand and leading him to the sofa, then turning toward the liquor cabinet. “I know it’s a lot to take in.” 

Crowley wondered when they’d even ascended the stairs, and whether it was a small miracle of transportation, or his own distraction that had kept him from noticing. 

Aziraphale turned back toward him with a half-filled glass of amber liquid in his hand, holding it out toward Crowley. 

“If you’d like to talk about it…”

“I wouldn’t,” Crowley cut him off quietly, staring at the glass but making no move to take it. “And… I don’t want anything more to drink.” 

Aziraphale tilted his head in a puzzled, vaguely worried look. “Had enough at Anathema’s?” he surmised. He hesitated, his lips parted a moment before he asked, “Why… _ did _ you come home early tonight, love?” 

The question was unsettling. Crowley gave Aziraphale a long look before admitting softly, “I didn’t like leaving you like that. Us… arguing. Couldn’t rightly enjoy the evening, knowing…” He was quiet for a moment, the ache in his chest making it difficult to get the words out. “...  _ thinking _ … you were spending it alone and miserable…”

Aziraphale waved the hand that held the drink, graciously dismissive. “Don’t give it a second thought, darling,” he said warmly. “It was forgiven before you even left.” 

Crowley frowned. He wasn’t quite sure he needed forgiveness for their earlier argument. Wasn’t quite sure he’d done anything wrong at all. 

_ To Aziraphale. In finally standing up to Aziraphale.  _

_ Done a lot of wrong, mate. But… not that.  _

“Crowley…” 

Aziraphale moved in close, setting Crowley’s unwanted glass on the coffee table so that he could put his arms around Crowley’s waist and gently draw him in. Crowley resisted the impulse to pull away, the irrational sense of panic that he was being restrained, stifled by the embrace. 

He was…  _ confused _ , and tired, every emotion so raw and near to the surface. He just needed… a little space, some room to  _ think _ …

“Crowley, my love… I hope you know I didn’t  _ want _ this to happen,” Aziraphale assured him, close and quiet and attentive, lifting a gentle hand to brush through Crowley’s hair - and Crowley nearly flinched. “Whatever is going on in his head, whatever… drove him to do this, I - I’m trying to ensure that he  _ never does it again _ . You understand that, right?” 

Crowley stared down at the floor, nodding slowly, feeling a little lost. 

It made sense. It was an understandable response, wasn’t it? To take satisfaction in Gabriel’s punishment, for trying to hurt them? Trying to come between them? 

_ You wanted to hurt him, too,  _ Crowley reminded himself.  _ In the moment when you heard what he’d done… _

“ _ Crowley _ .” Aziraphale tilted his head up, and _ there _ was Crowley’s angel looking back at him with tenderness and concern in his eyes. “I love  _ you _ . I want  _ you _ . No one else.” 

“I know,” Crowley replied softly. 

The reassurances didn’t mean all that much, weren’t particularly comforting. 

They were the answer to the wrong question. 

“Sit with me,” Aziraphale invited, shifting them toward the sofa a little. “Relax with me a bit, I did so want to spend my evening with you to begin with, you know that…”

“I, uh…” Crowley hesitated, glancing toward the sofa, then toward the bedroom door. “I think I’m just gonna lie down a bit,” he said at last. “Need a minute, yeah? Need to - to think.” 

Aziraphale frowned, troubled. “All right, then,” he conceded with a sigh, his hand rising to cup the back of Crowley’s head, drawing him down for a soft kiss. 

Crowley returned it - because he could do nothing else. Because after 6000 years, Aziraphale  _ was _ his angel - and Crowley didn’t know how not to love him. 

Aziraphale met his eyes with a warm smile, brushing his thumb across Crowley’s lower lip as he promised, “I’ll be right here if you change your mind.” 

Crowley nodded, forcing a smile in return, and then retreated to the quiet solitude of the bedroom. 

He tried to sleep. Sleep was a tempting prospect - an enticing escape from this entire unthinkable mess of a situation. 

Crowley couldn’t sleep. 

When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t escape the image of Aziraphale’s cruel smile as he’d inflicted small, added pains to the archangel’s already desperate, agonizing predicament - the sound of Gabriel’s breathless, terrified cries, and the way he’d struggled to stifle them in his throat rather than allow them to provoke Aziraphale’s anger. 

And then, there were  _ other _ images - the ones brought to life by Aziraphale’s story. 

Gabriel, sauntering into the apartment, exuding confidence and shining with Heavenly light. Closing in on Aziraphale and speaking to him in low, enticing tones… offering himself up to Aziraphale, moving in as close, _ touching him _ … 

Aziraphale  _ was _ still Crowley’s angel - and those images stirred a slow burning fury in his chest - a violent fury that seemed ill-aimed at the trembling, terrified creature bound and suffering in the backroom, while Crowley lay in bed and Aziraphale… read a book and sipped his drink, most likely. 

Crowley needed answers - and he needed them from a source other than Aziraphale. 

It was simple enough to miracle his way past the living room and out of the apartment entirely, back downstairs so that he was standing just outside the backroom door. Crowley lingered there a few moments in indecision. 

The door was locked. 

Crowley had not found it locked when he’d returned from Anathema’s house - presumably because Aziraphale didn’t see any need to hide what he was doing, if events had played out the way he’d said. If Gabriel had shown up unbidden and provoked the whole thing, brought justified punishment down on himself, then Aziraphale wouldn’t have bothered to lock the door, would he? 

_ Also he didn’t think you’d be home. That’s another reason he wouldn’t have bothered to lock the door.  _

_ So why’s it locked now, then? He doesn’t want you in there, doesn’t want you interfering in his methods of punishment… _

_ Or hearing what the archangel has to say.  _

Crowley made his decision. 

With a snap of his fingers, he unlocked the door, and it swung open before him untouched. 

******************************************************************************************

_ Everything _ hurt. 

Gabriel’s entire body felt as if it was on fire. Searing heat emanated from the whip lashes that covered his bare legs, as if the tails of the whip were still licking at his flesh. The lashes were sparser across his back, still partially covered with the remnants of his bloodied, shredded jacket, but still a source of fiery anguish only rivaled by the burning in his lungs. 

Every breath was a struggle. 

Gabriel’s arms throbbed with the effort of maintaining the uplifted position that was the only way he could breathe steadily. He  _ couldn’t _ maintain it, not anymore, not for longer than a few seconds at a time. The hellfire cuffs  _ burned _ , so much more intensely than they had when he’d first put them on - every shift in any direction a fresh agony as the searing metal dragged against his skin. 

His legs ached, trembling with exertion as he struggled to maintain his footing on barely more than his toes, just to be able to breathe at all. The suspended tension was unbearable; and yet he knew that if he slipped and lost his footing… when his legs inevitably gave out beneath him… it’d be worse. 

_ You can always make this worse… _

He had no idea how long Aziraphale meant to keep him like this. 

_ I’ll do whatever you say, please, I won’t disobey again, I don’t care how I dress, don’t care how they look at me, anything, please, I’ll do anything… _

It was the truth, this time. 

In that moment, Gabriel  _ truly _ didn’t care what the other angels thought of him anymore.

_ He promised he’d help you with that… _

The nasty, taunting little voice in the back of his mind was abruptly drowned out by the ringing in his ears as his breath was cut off again. His hands were falling, their weight pulling against the belt and suffocating him once more. He forced his arms up, one more time - unable to suppress a low moan of pain at the agonizing ache in his weary limbs. 

The door swung open with an ominous creak. 

Gabriel went perfectly still, his heart thundering against his ribs, and he struggled to stifle even the harsh sound of his own ragged breathing. 

_ Please, I’m trying… please don’t be angry, I’m sorry… _

But… it wasn’t Aziraphale, Gabriel was quickly aware. The pace of the footsteps was all wrong, as well as the taut note of accusation, just barely buried beneath the surface of a quiet, troubled question. 

“So… just what are we playing at here, archangel?” 

Crowley. 

“Think we ought to have a conversation, yeah?” 

Gabriel couldn’t have answered if he wanted to - had no idea what to say to appease the demon slowly stalking nearer to him - but he wasn’t at all surprised that Crowley was angry with him. 

_ You aren’t supposed to be here… _

Gabriel’s stomach clenched with fear at the sound of Crowley snapping his fingers - then all at once, the tension of his bonds just  _ snapped _ . The cuffs remained chained together, but no longer suspended across the bar, no longer attached to the belt - which in fact seemed to have vanished entirely. 

No longer supported by the agonizing restraint system, Gabriel crashed to the floor - the pain of the sharp impact nothing compared to the blessed relief of being able to  _ freely breathe _ again. On trembling hands, Gabriel pulled himself up halfway onto his knees. 

“Take that off,” Crowley ordered quietly. 

Gabriel froze, his heart racing. 

There was very little he was still wearing - very little for Crowley to demand he give up. 

“Y-yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered - quickly, before his lack of response could anger the demon. 

He reached up, faltering in darkness, to feel what was left of his shirt. It was shredded now, hanging in ribbons from his shoulders - offering little in the way of protection. His hands ached as he felt for the buttons, and tried to find both the will and the coordination to obey. 

“Oh, for Someone’s sake,” Crowley hissed. 

Gabriel felt his swift advance, and cringed away from the frustration in his voice, his bound hands twitching in front of him as he suppressed the impulse to lift them in front of his face, to protect himself. 

_ He won’t like that… you’ll make it worse… _

Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat when he felt Crowley’s hand on the back of his head. There was a sharp tug - and then suddenly, the dim light of the room flooded his vision. Gabriel flinched at the sudden movement as Crowley threw something down at his feet. 

He blinked down at it for a few moments as his eyes adjusted, until at last he registered what it was - what Crowley had demanded he take off. 

The crumpled ruins of the tie Aziraphale had used to blindfold him. 

“That’s just your answer to everything, is it?” Crowley snapped, scathing contempt in accusing words. “Just… offer yourself up in exchange for whatever it is that you want?” 

Gabriel swallowed hard, staring at the tie, feeling his face flush with shame. 

_ So stupid. Useless little idiot. Can’t get anything right, can you? _

“So he’s telling the truth about you, then,” Crowley concluded, disgust mingled with an inexplicable note of  _ relief  _ in the words. “You really are just a whore, aren’t you?” 

Gabriel’s stomach plummeted. 

Just how much had Aziraphale  _ told _ Crowley? 

He cringed, shaking his head, struggling to offer stumbling, halting words. 

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Right,” Crowley scoffed. “Fat lot of good that does now, yeah? I tried to  _ help _ you! I tried to  _ get him to stop _ !” 

“I know,” Gabriel whispered, nodding, more desperate to appease the demon with every ranting word, as his voice rose with his fury. “I - know you did, and I fucked it up, I’m sorry, th-thank you…” 

His gaze fell on Crowley’s clenched fist, a couple of feet in front of him, and he reached out for it with his own bound hands. 

“ _ Thank you _ …”

Crowley jerked away from him sharply the instant he made contact, then grabbed the lapel of Gabriel’s ruined jacket. 

“Don’t you  _ fucking dare _ .” Crowley hauled him in close, his voice low and warning, trembling with rage. “ _ I know what you did _ .” 

Gabriel blinked, staring up at him in helpless confusion. “I - I don’t - what are you…?” 

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t know,” Crowley snapped. “Aziraphale told me everything. How you  _ seduced _ him…” he spat out in disgust. “Tried to steal him away from me…” He released Gabriel with a harsh shove, a cold laugh spilling from his lips as he glared down at him in contempt. “Didn’t work, though, did it? Told you already. Leave the temptation to the professionals.” 

Gabriel’s mind raced as he tried desperately to work out just what Crowley was so angry about - and could only reach one logical conclusion. 

_ Seduced him… tried to steal him… whore, offering yourself up…  _

Gabriel’s worst fears had come to pass. 

Crowley  _ knew _ . 

He’d been suspicious for a long while, Gabriel had noticed with rising uneasiness. He’d caught the demon watching him with resentment and jealousy in his eyes, felt the tension between Aziraphale and Crowley whenever he was around. Crowley had walked in on something tonight that he hadn’t been meant to see. Aziraphale had said they were going upstairs to talk. 

And, well, apparently… Aziraphale had done quite a lot of talking. Confessed everything. 

And now, Gabriel was going to pay for his sins. 

Crowley’s golden eyes blazed with fury as his agitated pacing brought him back around to face Gabriel again, and he closed in swiftly, grabbing Gabriel’s collar with both hands and jerking sharply. 

“Aziraphale is  _ mine _ . Don’t you ever  _ touch _ him again, do you understand me? You keep your  _ hands off _ .” 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly, desperately, though his eyes flooded with despair. 

“I’m so sorry,” he gasped out, bowing his head, as pliant as he could manage in Crowley’s menacing grasp, desperately trying to make him understand. “But… I… I don’t get to  _ decide _ , I don’t want it, I swear, I d-didn’t  _ mean _ to tempt him, I don’t  _ want _ him to do it, he just keeps… it just keeps  _ happening _ …” 

Tears spilled down Gabriel’s face with the rambling words from his lips, and Crowley went very still, his fists still clenched in the shredded fabric. Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to look at him, his eyes downcast, his face flushed with shame. When Crowley spoke at last, his voice was taut, sharp-edged and dangerous despite his quiet tone, and Gabriel shivered in his grasp. 

“ _ Keeps _ happening.” He was silent for a moment. “As in… more than just this time.” 

“He didn’t this time,” Gabriel offered, pleading, nearly frantic. “He just punished me, for the suit, and I deserved it, he was right to, but he didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” Crowley persisted, his voice trembling, hands white-knuckled with his barely restrained rage. “Didn’t  _ fuck you _ ? Is that what keeps happening… but didn’t happen  _ this time _ ?” 

Gabriel’s heart seemed to stutter to a stop, and he froze - an icy wash of dread flowing over him as he lifted faltering, hesitant eyes to Crowley’s face, and recognized the utter shock, the blind fury of betrayal, and  _ realized… _

_ He didn’t know.  _

“No,” he protested immediately, thoughts tumbling over each other in panic as he tried to find a way back. “No, he didn’t - doesn’t,” he pleaded, shaking his head, one hand instinctively raised to circle Crowley’s wrist. “Please, I swear nothing happened, not this time, not  _ any  _ time, he - he only punishes me, he doesn’t…”

Crowley jerked his hand away from Gabriel, instead catching his arm, shaking him. 

“Do  _ not  _ lie to me!” he snarled. 

Gabriel nearly collapsed, his heart sinking with horrified defeat. 

_ It’s too late. _

Crowley hadn’t known. Within that context, Gabriel couldn’t make sense of the demon’s accusations, but that one fact was perfectly clear to him. Crowley hadn’t known, when he’d walked into this room - but now he did. 

Because of Gabriel. 

Crowley was going to march right back up those stairs, demanding answers of Aziraphale. Aziraphale might be too caught off guard to come up with a convincing story. Maybe Crowley would leave him - or maybe not. Aziraphale was quick on his feet, and could probably come up with a convincing story to appease him. Those were details that didn’t really matter. 

Gabriel was fucked either way.

He’d fucked  _ himself _ , with this monumental mistake. 

Aziraphale would have no mercy when he learned what Gabriel had done. 

_ But… Crowley…  _

Crowley was merciful. Despite his demonic nature, despite his hostility toward Gabriel, Crowley had shown him kindness before. He’d withheld information from Aziraphale to protect Gabriel from punishment. He’d even shown mercy tonight, despite his fury - removing Gabriel’s bonds, easing his suffering. 

“Please,” Gabriel sobbed, palms spread, open and pleading, though one arm was still caught tight in Crowley’s trembling grasp. “Please, it was… my fault,” he gasped. “You - you’re right. I seduced him, I - I tempted him. He didn’t mean to do it, please don’t be angry with him. He loves  _ you _ , he wants to be with  _ you _ , he didn’t w-want to... “ 

Crowley’s grip on Gabriel’s arm slowly eased, and Gabriel’s heart sank. He could see it in the demon’s horrified, heartbroken eyes. 

He knew every word was a lie. 

“Please don’t tell him,” Gabriel choked out, shaking violently, overcome with panic at the thought of what Aziraphale would do. “Please, don’t - he’ll -  _ please don’t tell him I told you _ …”

*********************************************************************************************************

Crowley couldn’t move - could barely breathe. 

He was able to muster enough presence of mind to release the fist clenched in Gabriel’s collar, to release the archangel’s arm, now reddened from the force of his grip. 

“Please don’t tell him…” Gabriel bowed low over his knees when Crowley let him go, his palms extended in front of him in a gesture of desperate supplication. “Please, he’ll be so angry… he’ll h-hurt me so much, please…” He shook his head, despairing. “I thought you knew,” he gasped out, breathless and barely audible through his tears. “I thought you already knew, please,  _ please _ don’t tell him I told you…” 

There was no question left in Crowley’s mind as to his truthfulness. 

There was no reconciling the soft, anguished despair in Gabriel’s words, the uncontrollable trembling of his body in  _ utter terror _ of what  _ Aziraphale _ would do to him - with the image of him Aziraphale had tried to paint in Crowley’s mind. No way that this broken creature quaking in Crowley’s grasp had pressed into Aziraphale’s personal space and brazenly demanded to be welcomed there. 

No way in Hell or Heaven or anywhere else that this broken, abject submission was a  _ fucking act _ that the archangel had maintained for  _ months. _

“When…” Crowley tried to speak, faltering as the word seemed to break apart in his throat. He rose slowly to his feet, taking a backward step, gasping in a deep breath, as he tried to find his voice again. “When did this start, again?” 

Gabriel looked up at him with wide, panicked eyes, lips parted and trembling as he visibly struggled to come up with the right answer - and then gave up, his gaze lowered in defeat, the truth clear in his voice as he whispered his dejected response. 

“It… never stopped.” 

And Crowley’s entire world shifted, in a single moment. 

The pieces he’d been working so fervently to ignore for so long, all at once came crashing together in his mind with perfect clarity - the force of the collision powerful enough to shatter his illusions - to shatter the last remnants of trust in his heart. 

To shatter  _ everything _ . 

His relationship of the past 6000 years - everything he’d shared with his angel, and who Crowley thought Aziraphale was… 

All of it.  _ Gone _ . 

Aziraphale had been blatantly lying to Crowley, for Someone knew how long… 

_ Aziraphale knows how long.  _

Fucking Gabriel. Torturing him. Demanding his silence about both, and enforcing it with brutal terror and violence, while insisting to Crowley that one was no longer happening, and the other had never happened at all. After 6000 years together, this brazen infidelity would have been unforgivable, in itself. 

And… the reality of what Aziraphale had done was  _ so much worse _ than simply cheating. 

Crowley could no longer convince himself, even for a moment, that Gabriel had come onto Aziraphale, had offered himself to him, in any way that mattered - in any way beyond an act of sheer desperation in order to avoid worse torture. Gabriel had never seduced Aziraphale, never tried to tempt him -  _ never wanted any part of this at all. _

That hadn’t mattered to Aziraphale. 

He’d taken what he wanted, anyway. 

_ Rape.  _

The word echoed in Crowley’s mind - the word that had lingered there in the darkest corners, shoved back again and again, from the very moment he’d caught them in the backroom, Gabriel on his knees and desperately trying to please Aziraphale with his mouth. 

_ Because if he didn’t… Aziraphale would have hurt him. Because he had no choice at all. Pain, or violation.  _

_ Or sometimes both - up to Aziraphale… _

Gabriel’s frantic, pleading words echoed in Crowley’s mind. 

_ I don’t get to decide… _

“It’s my fault,” Gabriel insisted, halting, broken. “Please don’t tell him… please don’t tell him…” 

His desperation to take the blame, despite his utter powerlessness in the situation - the  _ sheer terror _ that drove him to try to ease the consequences of this revelation for  _ Aziraphale _ in any way that he could - filled Crowley with an overwhelming sense of shame and regret, his heart aching with compassion for this trembling, shattered creature at his feet.

And Crowley had certainly had his hand in breaking him. 

“Hey.” Crowley crouched down facing Gabriel, reaching out a cautious hand to touch his shoulder. 

Gabriel flinched violently, drawing in a sharp gasp, and Crowley withdrew his hand, holding it up in a placating gesture. 

“Easy,” he said, hushed and soothing. “Not gonna hurt you. Not gonna tell Aziraphale a blessed thing, either.” 

Gabriel lifted his eyes to Crowley’s face, wide and desperately hopeful. 

Crowley’s jaw set with decision, and he nodded once, slowly, in confirmation. “Not tonight. Not ever again. And  _ you _ … you are going home.” 

Gabriel frowned in troubled confusion, lips parted to protest. 

But then Crowley snapped his fingers, and the archangel cringed, shaking his head rapidly in apology, trembling hands lifted in a wordless plea. 

_ For speaking. No, for  _ thinking  _ about speaking…  _

_ Aziraphale, you utter fucking bastard, what have you done?  _

It took Gabriel a few moments to realize what Crowley had done - that the snap of his fingers had not been intended to threaten or harm, but to heal. To undo some tiny fragment of the damage that Crowley had allowed and facilitated. 

_ Least you can do is make the pain stop.  _

Crowley felt a rush of warm satisfaction and relief as Gabriel examined his newly unblemished limbs, running his hands down over his sides, reaching around to gingerly touch his back, and finding every last lash of the whip gone. Satisfaction was swallowed up in a rush of shame when Gabriel turned his wide, wondering gaze up toward Crowley. 

Crowley knew he didn’t deserve a  _ trace _ of the gratitude he saw shining in the archangel’s eyes. 

_ You brought him here. You started this, caused and allowed it.  _

_ Now _ fix _ it.  _

Crowley snapped his fingers a second time - then frowned, when nothing happened. 

He tried again, with the same result -  _ no _ result. 

The hellfire cuffs remained locked around Gabriel’s wrists. 

Crowley reached out a tentative hand, gently taking hold of Gabriel’s wrist, just above the cuff. Gabriel flinched a little, but remained pliant, moving easily with Crowley’s hand. Crowley’s guilt at that unsettling behavior was tempered somewhat by the fact that at least Gabriel seemed to understand that he was trying to help him. 

“Why won’t these come off?” Crowley muttered, snapping again a couple of times. 

Gabriel swallowed, staring down at Crowley’s hand on his arm. “He’s the only one who can take them off,” he explained, though Crowley wasn’t expecting an answer. “You - you shouldn’t try. Please, he’ll - he’ll be angry…”

“He can be as angry as he likes, you’ll be far, far away,” Crowley declared, low and dark. “We both will be. Must be the blessing on the outside…” 

He braced himself for the sting as he reached out to touch the latch on the outer edge of the cuff - then jerked his hand away at the sharp burn, far more painful than he’d expected. 

“Don’t,” Gabriel pleaded, his anxiety rising with Crowley’s failing efforts. “Please… if he knows you tried, he’ll be angry…”

“That’s why I’ve gotta do better than try,” Crowley countered. 

He drew in a deep breath, flexing his hands, eyeing the clasp with dubious resolution. He steeled himself against the pain - a reasonable consequence, he figured, given the hours Gabriel had spent locked into them. 

_ You made the bloody things. Got it coming, don’t you?  _

It  _ hurt _ . Fierce, fiery agony, like touching a red hot stove… and then wrapping his hand around and  _ holding on _ . But Crowley didn’t let go; he knew he had to do  _ this _ . 

Leaving Gabriel here to Aziraphale’s mercy was not an option. 

At last, Crowley managed to pry the clasp open, though it seemed to resist his efforts, as if it wanted to remain closed. 

Or as if someone else wanted it to. 

The first cuff fell away to the floor. 

And Crowley took a breath, braced himself, and went in for the other one. 

Gabriel gasped, rocking a little on his feet as the full force of his power came flooding back. He took a moment to catch his breath, staring down at his wrists, and this time he didn’t flinch when Crowley snapped his fingers, healing the damage of the hours spent in contact with them. 

_ Crowley _ winced, though, at the sharp pain of the friction, one blessing-seared finger against the other. 

“The - the blessing,” Gabriel said at last, a little breathless, looking up at Crowley with confusion. 

And Crowley’s stomach lurched with realization. 

“It - hurt you,” Gabriel continued softly. “Holy water didn’t, but…” 

Crowley offered no explanation. He was too weary and overwhelmed to come up with anything quickly. He just watched the archangel with wary eyes, waiting for full understanding to come to him, and bracing for an attack. 

He should have known better, Crowley realized with guilt, as Gabriel shrank, his shoulders falling, and he looked up at Crowley again with mingled awe and dread in his eyes. 

“Because  _ he _ did it,” he concluded quietly. “The blessing. Of course he’s more powerful than you.” 

“Well, of  _ course _ ,” Crowley confirmed, unable to keep a trace of sarcasm from his tone, barely managing to resist rolling his eyes. 

“He’s more powerful than anyone,” Gabriel whispered, the soft horror in the words sending a shiver down Crowley’s spine.

Gabriel stared down at his newly healed wrists, absently touching the clear, unblemished skin for a moment, before his gaze shifted to land on Crowley’s hands - seared and raw, stinging pretty badly - though nowhere near as badly damaged as Gabriel’s wrists had been. He looked up at Crowley again, hesitant, before reaching out a faltering, tentative hand. 

“I - I could heal them…”

“No,” Crowley snapped, jerking away.

A fresh rush of guilt - perhaps irrational, but unmistakable - washed over him at the very idea of Gabriel healing his injuries, after everything he’d suffered, simply because Crowley had  _ made _ the fucking things to begin with. 

It was just…  _ wrong _ , somehow. 

Crowley’s guilt was in no way eased when Gabriel flinched at his sharp tone, an inexplicable flash of hurt in his eyes. “I just wanted to help…”

“Well, don’t,” Crowley muttered. 

“I wasn’t going to - try to attack you, or something…”

“Better not,” Crowley snapped, his defensive instincts taking over momentarily. “Maybe he’s more powerful than me, yeah,” he conceded, aware enough to take the explanation and run with it, if it might keep Gabriel from examining the situation any more closely, from figuring out that perhaps the traitors weren’t as invulnerable as they seemed. “I’m still a Hell of a lot more powerful than  _ you _ .” 

Gabriel shrank away from Crowley, bowing his head. 

“I know,” he said softly. 

Crowley swallowed, looking away.

As if he hadn’t already felt enough like utter shit. 

_ He’s going home. Back to Heaven, and you’ll never see him again after tonight, _ he reminded himself. 

_ Aziraphale won’t ever see either of you again.  _

_ As of this moment - this is over. _

“Listen to me,” Crowley commanded quietly, and Gabriel’s eyes darted up to his, instantly completely attentive. “Did you bring anything with you here tonight? Anything besides…  _ that _ ?” 

He snapped his fingers, and the ruins of Gabriel’s suit were restored to pristine perfection. 

Gabriel winced, visibly distressed, tugging anxiously at the stunning garment. 

“No.” He shook his head. “No, just…” 

He hesitated a moment before snapping his fingers in turn. Crowley tensed a bit, but knew better by this point than to expect any actual violence from Gabriel - no matter how well deserved it might have been. The archangel’s miracle simply vanished the Heavenly suit to parts unknown, replacing it with the jeans and lavender shirt Aziraphale preferred him to wear. 

“... just this.” 

Crowley nodded grimly. 

Of course, that was how Gabriel had  _ actually _ been dressed when he’d arrived at the bookshop. Made a Hell of a lot more sense than Aziraphale’s story. Crowley had no idea where the suit had come from - if it was a creation of Aziraphale’s, in order to dress Gabriel up in an extra-flashy semblance of his former style, just to shame and degrade him for it - if it was a bit of last minute “evidence” intended to incriminate Gabriel and support his story. 

All Crowley really knew was that there was a lot more to the story than he knew. 

At the moment, he didn’t have the heart to care about such details. 

It  _ was _ troubling to Crowley, how swiftly Gabriel reverted to the option most likely to please Aziraphale, when given the chance. 

It didn’t matter. 

_ He’ll be wearing whatever he likes again soon enough, _ Crowley told himself.  _ Get him away from Aziraphale, for a little while, and he’ll get over it… he’ll be right as rain. Back to his old arrogant, infuriating self in no time. _

Crowley tried not to examine his own mental reassurances too closely, lest he see them for the utter bullshit that they were. 

Neither he nor Gabriel would be simply “getting over” this - not for a long time to come. 

“The suit’s… where?” Crowley asked. 

“It’s… nowhere,” Gabriel replied softly, eyes downcast. “Destroyed it.” 

Crowley nodded. “Anything of yours here? Anything at all?” 

Gabriel frowned, puzzled, shaking his head. “No, I - I don’t bring anything when I come…”

Crowley nodded again, satisfied with the answer. 

He reached down and retrieved the whip from the floor where Aziraphale had discarded it - and his stomach clenched when Gabriel shrank away from him, eyes wide and locked onto the weapon with dread. 

“I’m telling the truth,” he whispered. “Please…”

“Easy,” Crowley said, soft and sorrowful. “Not gonna hurt you…” 

Gabriel remained tense and braced for the worst as Crowley carefully passed his hand over the whip, miraculously removing any trace of Gabriel’s blood, before tossing it down onto the floor between them, next to the discarded Hellfire cuffs. 

Gabriel stared at it for a long moment before looking up at Crowley, brow furrowed with confusion. Crowley’s attention was focused on Aziraphale’s desk behind the archangel. He snapped his fingers, and the weapons he’d provided for Aziraphale’s use were instantly transported from the drawer where they were kept, to the same general location as the whip. 

Another snap of Crowley’s fingers ensured that all of the cursed items were clean of any traces of blood - that no part of Gabriel’s essence remained on them. His task completed, Crowley looked around the room, examining their surroundings with a critical eye. A snap of his fingers cleaned the walls, the floor, the desk, and the bar overhead in the same manner. 

When at last the room was immaculate, Crowley turned his attention back to Gabriel, meeting his eyes with a solemn gaze. “Get out of here,” he instructed him softly, nodding toward the collection of implements. “Take these with you. And don’t come back.” 

Gabriel frowned, shaking his head. “I can’t,” he argued - then immediately flinched, as if expecting to get slapped for his refusal. “He - he’ll just call me back.” 

“Where’s the watch?” Crowley asked. 

“He took it off me,” Gabriel explained, halting and uncertain, fingers tracing its invisible outline on his wrist. “He’s - he’s still got it.” 

“Important thing is, you’re not  _ wearing _ it,” Crowley pointed out. “And… when he took it, were you, uh… were you bleeding?” 

Gabriel blinked, confused. “No?” he offered, hesitant. “He - hadn’t started yet, when he - when he took it off.” 

“Good.” Crowley nodded, feeling a sense of relief. “Then… you’re leaving nothing behind.” When Gabriel continued to stare at him blankly, Crowley clarified softly, “He can’t summon you. Not without something of yours.” 

Gabriel’s eyes widened, his lips forming a soundless “oh’, and he nodded slowly. 

“So, you put on those gloves,” Crowley instructed firmly, “you take these things and you go back to Heaven. And you  _ stay there. Do not  _ come back to Earth. For  _ any _ reason.” His tone softened. “You’ll be safe, there.” 

Gabriel opened his mouth as if to protest - then stopped, lowering his head and nodding. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Crowley swallowed hard, looking around the room, his gaze drawn upward toward the unseen apartment above. He knew he was doing the right thing, the  _ only _ thing given what he’d learned. 

That didn’t make him feel any less like he was falling apart inside - nothing left of him but a mess of raw, broken edges. 

He didn’t know for sure where he was going to go - just that he was  _ going _ . 

_ Nothing left for me here. What we had - my angel and I… _

_ … we don’t have it anymore.  _

Crowley turned toward the door - then froze when he felt Gabriel’s hand reach out, softly wrapping around his and gently tugging him back. He turned back toward the kneeling archangel, looking down at him and waiting, sad and patient, as his lips parted, and faltered, and then closed again. 

“What?” Crowley pressed, too tired for the word to be anything but soft. 

Gabriel hesitated, glancing up at him with a troubled, conflicted gaze - then simply pressed his forehead to Crowley’s hand. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

Crowley couldn’t speak for a long moment, past the knot in his throat. His lips parted to make way for the apology that rose to them - but Crowley couldn’t let it pass. He closed his mouth, swallowed it back. 

A tiny, useless thing - not even close to enough. 

“Go,” he said at last again, his voice thick and heavy with impending tears. “Don’t come back.” 

Gabriel nodded against Crowley’s hand, before straightening a little and releasing it, looking up at Crowley with violet eyes, shining with grateful tears. 

Crowley couldn’t stand it, not for another moment. 

He turned and walked swiftly away - out of the backroom and out of the bookshop, away from the remnants of the angel he’d loved and the life they’d shared. 

This place - stained with blood and betrayal, and broken beyond repair - wasn’t Crowley’s home anymore.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for any of you who are not yet aware - we've started a Discord server specifically for all things Repo!verse and DiP!verse!! The main original stories, and all the AUs, artwork, one-off stories, etc. A place where anyone who enjoys those works and similar works can go to chat about the stories, ask questions, share their own work, etc. 
> 
> You're all invited!!!! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Click the link below to join up!! We'd love to chat with you there :) 
> 
> https://discord.gg/S5VSesV5Xd

My dear friend, THISIsGREAT, has made some more lovely art to share with you all - their concept of what it might look like if Repossession!Gabriel and DiP!Aziraphale were to meet!! <3 <3 <3 

it's quite gorgeous work, please feel free to leave a comment for them as well to let them know what you think!!! 

This one is called "A Pair of Bastards" ... quite fitting ;) 

And this one is "A Pair of HOLY Bastards" - very chilling imagery, I love it!!! <3 <3 <3 

Enjoy the art, and enjoy the chapter to follow - hope you like it, please comment and let me know!!! 

*hugs*

DoS

Anathema was a little disappointed when Crowley left their “book club” meeting early. 

Of course… they weren’t really having very much fun at the time. 

Anathema had learned over the past few weeks to keep the conversation on “safe” topics. Amusing anecdotes about her encounters with the colorful characters that made up her neighborhood, and Tadfield in general. Stories of Adam’s latest antics - out of season snow days… the local ice cream shop that now boasted 39 flavors when it had formerly only offered three... and other probably-accidental miracles that were more or less harmless, but seemed specifically tailored to suit the interests of the young former Antichrist and his friends. 

Her swiftly intensifying relationship with Newt was a topic that called for... _some_ caution. It was… _mostly_ safe, so long as Anathema kept it to her own personal experiences and feelings, and took care not to allow the conversation to drift in the direction of Aziraphale, and Crowley’s relationship with him. 

According to Crowley, things had much improved between them lately, and while Anathema had her doubts, she held them in reserve. As Crowley had made very clear to her, he was a grown demon, capable of making his own choices - even if she personally felt that those choices weren’t particularly good for him. 

She tried not to think about the unsettlingly possessive, controlling behavior Aziraphale had exhibited when he’d come to her door several months back, intent on taking Crowley home with him - and infuriatingly _successful_ in doing so, despite the fact that Crowley had _caught him in the act_ of cheating on him, mere _hours_ earlier. 

She tried not to think about how swiftly Crowley had forgiven the angel for his betrayal - about the subtle and less subtle ways in which her friend repeatedly tried to shift the narrative, to explain away Aziraphale’s actions and place at least a part of the blame on his own shoulders. 

It was a fine line Anathema had to walk: attempting to shut down those self-accusations, assuring Crowley that he was not to blame - _without_ openly indicting Aziraphale. Laying the responsibility for their problems squarely where it belonged was certain only to upset Crowley, and drive him away from her - straight into Aziraphale’s waiting arms. 

This particular evening, Aziraphale didn’t come up in conversation at all - but Crowley seemed preoccupied and morose. When Anathema carefully prodded a little, trying to get him to tell her what was wrong, Crowley refused to talk about it. 

He’d barely been there an hour before he made his excuses and headed home. 

Anathema let him go without a fuss, reluctantly keeping her questions and worries to herself. 

When the time came that Aziraphale inevitably let him down again, Anathema wanted Crowley to feel like he could come to her. 

He did - less than an hour after he’d left. 

And whatever had happened in that scant space of time, it had apparently been enough to take the demon from mopey and morose to absolutely fucking _wrecked_. 

Crowley stood on Anathema’s porch, his shaded eyes turned down, arms crossed defensively over his chest. His jaw was taut and clenched - its stubborn set belied by a slight quiver. He drew in a breath, letting it out in a shuddering rush, and Anathema noticed with alarm that his entire body was trembling. 

“Are you all right?” she asked softly, taking a step back to allow him entrance. 

Crowley swallowed hard, not moving. After a long moment he confessed, a hoarse and ragged whisper. 

“ _No_.” 

He stepped over the threshold into the cottage, and Anathema instinctively put an arm around him, leading him into her living room. Once they were seated side by side on the sofa, she waited for Crowley to elaborate on his admission. 

He didn’t. 

He just sat there for a long time, fairly vibrating with anxious, anguished emotion - bouncing one knee, raking a trembling hand through his hair with obvious agitation - and not saying a single word. 

“Did you and Aziraphale have a fight?” Anathema ventured to ask at last, with gentle caution, and a conscious effort to pronounce all four syllables of the angel’s name. 

Not that Crowley would have noticed if she hadn’t. 

The simple question undid him, and Crowley dissolved into tears, the fragile structure of his barely checked emotions collapsing, and bringing him down with it. He covered his face with his hands, shaking his head, at a loss for words. Anathema placed a supportive hand against his back, slowly, reassuringly stroking up and down as she waited for him to regain enough control to go on. 

Crowley’s wordless reaction to her question was answer enough. 

Anathema felt the heat of protective anger swelling up in her chest. 

“What did he do?” she asked, taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table and offering it to Crowley, then crumpling it in her fist when he waved it away. “Did he - did you catch him cheating again?” 

Crowley laughed bitterly, turning his tear-streaked face away from her. “You might say that.” The faintest traces of his mirthless smile faded away as he shook his head, despairing. “I _wish_ he was only cheating. But… it’s so far _beyond_ that, love, it’s… it’s…” After a moment, he gave up on finding the words and just shook his head miserably. 

Anathema reached for his hand - and Crowley jerked away with a hiss. She immediately withdrew her own hands, looking down at his, alarmed to find several raised, red welts across his palms. 

“You’re hurt.” 

She frowned with concern, one hand reaching to slowly, cautiously cradle the back of Crowley’s hand, gratified when, after a brief flinch at the first brush of her hand against his, he reluctantly allowed her gentle examination. Careful not to touch the strange marks, she studied them closely. They appeared to be burns of some kind. 

“What happened?” 

“It’s nothing,” Crowley insisted, gingerly touching one palm with his fingertips, grimacing as he pulled his hands away and tucked them down between his parted legs, out of sight. 

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Anathema gave him a dubious look. “I could probably heal that for you…” 

Then she frowned, as it occurred to her - Crowley was far more powerful, far more skilled in the miraculous, than she was. She looked up at him, troubled and curious. 

“Why haven’t _you_ healed it?”

“Can’t,” Crowley muttered, turning his face away again, his words hoarse and hushed with shame. “Shouldn’t, anyway. Deserve it.” 

Anathema wasn’t sure which she found more alarming - the fact that Crowley believed that he deserved these strange injuries, or the fact that he was incapable of healing them. 

She’d spent a good deal of time in study since the world didn’t end, pursuing ancient books and other texts that might help her to better understand what she’d witnessed and experienced that day, and a few of those books had led her to ask questions of her friend during their weekly meetings. Over the past several months, she’d learned a lot of very interesting things about angels and demons, and the inner workings of their fascinating and mysterious world. 

She’d learned enough to surmise one possible, very disturbing reason why Crowley might not be able to heal his own injuries. 

“Most things you can heal on your own,” she observed softly, thoughtfully. “Unless it’s… damage from holy water, or… some other blessed object. Unless the injury is… holy, somehow.” 

Crowley was silent - and Anathema felt the searing heat of fury, an uncomfortable tightening in her chest with the certainty of dark realization. 

_Aziraphale did this._

Anathema had had her suspicions for quite a while. 

She’d found it a little disconcerting to begin with - the blind adoration with which Crowley spoke of Aziraphale, as if the angel was his entire reason for existence… as if Aziraphale was by his very nature incapable of doing any wrong. Theirs was a perfect relationship, built on centuries of love that they’d only recently had the freedom to express - perfect and happy with no problems in it. Aziraphale was a being practically _made_ of pure love, after all, so how could Crowley be anything _but_ perfectly happy with him? 

The unspoken implication was clear, and unsettling. 

If there _had_ been problems… they would most certainly have been _Crowley’s fault._

He was a demon, after all - prone to temptation without even trying, sometimes, with a natural propensity toward mischief. If Anathema expressed any surprise or concern about things Crowley told her Aziraphale had said or done - ways in which he expressed… _disapproval_ , at certain aspects of Crowley’s behavior - Crowley insisted that it was only because Aziraphale loved him so much. The angel intended to spend all of time with Crowley, after all; it was understandable that he might want Crowley to be… well, _better_. 

“He’s used to angels,” Crowley reminded her with a rueful little grin and a dismissive wave of his hand. “Can see why he’d be a little uncomfortable with my evil ways.” 

“Your ways aren’t evil,” she’d protested, frowning. 

He gave her a teasing wink. “My ways are a _little_ evil.” 

It was a joke - a light-hearted exchange with an unspoken, underlying _belief_ that drove the laughter from Anathema’s heart, instead filling it with a heavy sense of concern for her friend, and the disturbing assumptions on which he seemed to base the most important relationship in his existence. 

Crowley was evil - and Aziraphale was good. Aziraphale knew better, and Crowley’s behavior naturally needed the occasional correction. Aziraphale was so very generous and tolerant to accept Crowley’s demonic nature, and Crowley was just unbelievably lucky to be allowed to be with him. 

When Aziraphale had cheated on Crowley, Crowley had been devastated - and rightfully furious. He’d shown up at Anathema’s house in tears, raging about Aziraphale’s betrayal. 

Then less than an hour later, he’d reluctantly left with Aziraphale - and the next time Crowley visited Anathema, his fury had vanished, and he was making excuses for Aziraphale... explaining away his behavior. 

If she only understood the circumstances. Love and sex didn’t mean the same thing to angels and demons as they did to humans. Aziraphale had known this other angel for a very long time; there was _history_ there, a complex dynamic that might have made Aziraphale feel that he had no choice. There were reasons why Aziraphale had done what he’d done, very logical, complicated _reasons_ \- and as a mere human, Anathema couldn’t possibly understand. 

Anathema _didn’t_ understand. 

She was appalled at the way that Crowley seemed to have so easily been talked around to forgiving Aziraphale’s infidelity, along with his empty promises that it would never happen again. 

She could still clearly hear the fierce, possessive tone of Aziraphale’s voice when he’d shown up at her house looking for Crowley - could see in her mind, the anxious tension in Crowley’s expression as he’d explained to her that after so many centuries of loving each other, there was no way he could simply walk away without at least giving Aziraphale the chance to explain. 

There had to be a _good reason_ , right? Aziraphale wasn’t capable of anything _but_ good, after all, was he? 

Aziraphale had _explained_ his way right back into Crowley’s arms. 

And now - Aziraphale had _hurt Crowley_. 

Inflicted injuries that were beyond Crowley’s ability to heal. Injuries Crowley _wouldn’t_ heal, even if he could, because it wasn’t Azirpahale’s fault, because Aziraphale was perfect and flawless in every possible way, because Crowley somehow, inexplicably, believed that he _deserved_ it. 

Anathema was willing to accept that there were things in this universe that were beyond her ability to comprehend. 

This… was not one of them. 

She’d heard and seen it all before - the warning signs, the unsettling level of devotion and dependence. For all Crowley’s claims that it was just _different_ for beings like them - this was all incredibly, painfully familiar. His excuses, his self-recriminations… his desperation to cling to a long-established relationship, no matter its destructive nature - it was all so very... _human_. 

Anathema had seen these patterns before, in the behavior of another friend - and without fail, every time, that friend had returned to her abusive partner, _convinced_ that she could make the relationship better - she could _be better_ , and prevent it from happening again. Convinced that she was unworthy of even the destructive love her partner offered, and had to cling to it, no matter what form it might take, wherever she could find it... lest she never find it again. 

Agnes’s writings had called Anathema’s friend out by name, and then advised Anathema as to what was to come to pass. 

**_“Thou shalt try to save her, and shouldst though thou wilt fail._ **

**_Many beasts and monsters thou shalt vanquish, Anathema my blood,_ **

**_Yet cannot thou save her from her own will.”_ **

Agnes was right, as always. 

But Agnes’s book was gone now, along with anything she’d ever written about Crowley. 

And Anathema would be _damned_ before she’d surrender Crowley to a similar fate, without _trying like hell_ to save him from his own will. 

“ _What did he do?_ ” she repeated, low and insistent. “Crowley… if Aziraphale would hurt you like this…” 

Crowley shook his head sadly. “He didn’t do this. Not - not really.” He was quiet for a moment, pressing his forefinger and thumb against his eyes under the rim of his glasses. “It’s my fault,” he sighed wearily. 

“Crowley,” Anathema began, careful, quiet. “Crowley, whatever he’s done… you didn’t _make_ him do _anything_ …”

“No, I - I know,” Crowley conceded. “What he’s done is - is his own choice. But...” He shook his head, despairing desolation in his haunted whisper. 

“... what about what _I’ve_ done?” 

Anathema’s heart ached for her friend, and she resisted the urge to take his hand, unwilling to cause him a trace more pain than what was already etched into his face. 

“Crowley,” she said softly. “There is nothing that you could do that would mean that you deserve to be hurt like this…”

“You don’t get it,” Crowley snapped, lifting his eyes at last to look at her, tearful and angry even through the shades, as close as he was sitting to her. “I’m not the one who’s been hurt! I mean - not really. This is _nothing_ , next to what he - what - what _I_ …” 

Anathema frowned - suddenly terribly confused. There was _someone else_ , besides Aziraphale and Crowley - someone _Crowley_ might have hurt? 

“Then, who?” she murmured, puzzled. Then her eyes widened, and she gave Crowley a dubious, sideways look. “Are you talking about... Aziraphale’s side piece? One of you… did something to hurt _him_?” 

Crowley let out a soft, mirthless huff of laughter, shaking his head as he turned away to lower it into his trembling hands. Anathema drew a fresh, unmangled tissue from the box on the coffee table and held it out, and this time Crowley snatched it from her hand. 

“I need a drink,” he muttered. 

Anathema wasn’t so sure about that. 

Whatever problems had driven Crowley to her door, she was fairly certain they would not be helped by the application of more alcohol. But… if there was one thing she knew about Crowley, it was that once he had enough alcohol in his system, he’d find it difficult to keep his secrets. 

He’d find it difficult to stop talking at all. 

She took two glasses from the liquor cabinet in one hand, and an unopened bottle in the other. Once she was seated beside Crowley again, she poured a generous drink for him, and one for herself as well. 

Crowley took the glass and downed its contents in one gulp, before expectantly holding it out toward her again. 

Anathema rolled her eyes, but complied with his wordless demand. He was slower to finish the second drink… and utterly silent. 

Anathema waited in the quiet for a while, as Crowley sat there, his face turned away from her, arms crossed over his chest despite the glass clutched tight in one hand - every nuance of his body language incredibly closed off to her… defensive. 

She waited. 

_He’s still here. Hasn’t left yet._

“You came here,” she stated at last, soft and careful. “This… thing happened. Or, _things_ . Whatever he did... and whatever you did. And you _decided_ to come _here_. For a reason. Right? Not just to sit here in my living room and drink my liquor and stare at the wall.” 

Crowley snapped the fingers of his free hand, and a fresh bottle appeared on her coffee table, identical to the one she’d opened. 

She wrinkled her nose, eyeing it suspiciously. “Ew, no.” 

“It’s real,” he assured her, sullen and quiet. 

She studied him for a long moment. “Talk to me.” 

Crowley didn’t look at her. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

Anathema’s jaw tightened with frustration; she was getting very tired of hearing various variations of those words from Crowley’s lips. She sat back a little in her seat, stifling a sigh - but even as she did, Crowley’s shoulders fell, and he let out a heavy, trembling breath. 

“I… don’t _want_ you to understand,” he admitted, soft and small. 

Anathema frowned, shifting in a little closer to him, her tone hushed and coaxing. “Why not?” 

“Because…” Crowley hesitated, biting his lip for a moment before continuing, “... I did a shit thing.” He shook his head. “A - a bloody _series_ of shit things. Over the course of months, now. And… someone got hurt.” 

Anathema was quiet a moment, taking that in. “How?” she pressed gently. 

Crowley drained what was left in his glass and leaned forward, setting it down on the coffee table and hiding his face in his hands. 

“If I tell you, you’ll know I’m a shit person,” he choked out, the despair in the quiet words tearing at Anathema’s heart. “You’ll kick me out of your house. You’ll never want to speak to me again. And…” His voice trembled, small and fearful and devastatingly honest. “... I don’t want that to happen.” 

“We all do shit things sometimes,” Anathema reminded him, though she wished herself capable of mustering up a little more conviction in the words. 

She was beginning to feel a little uneasy with the turn the conversation had taken. 

Crowley was a demon, after all. And while she had learned that that by no means excluded him from being a good friend and a good person, well - a “shit thing” to Anathema might have been lying to a friend, or stealing something from one of the shops downtown. 

A “shit thing” to Crowley might have been something more along the lines of tempting folks into a level of sin that would damn their souls to Hell. Or perhaps… delivering a believed-to-be-evil child to Satanic nuns in preparation for said child to be placed with the wrong parents and raised up to bring about the end of the world. 

Context was everything. 

Anathema needed more information. 

And Crowley didn’t seem in the least willing to offer it. 

_But he’s still here,_ she reminded herself. _And... that’s something._

It meant that he hadn’t decided to _completely_ shut her out. Not _quite_ yet. 

“So… you caught Aziraphale cheating again,” she guessed. 

Crowely didn’t deny it. 

“Same guy,” she surmised. 

Crowley nodded once - which was more than he’d given her since he’d arrived, so she was more than willing to take it. 

“And then… you did a bad thing? You… hurt someone? The guy who’s been sleeping with Aziraphale?” 

Crowley grimaced, shrugging a little. “Not… necessarily in that order.” 

Anathema blinked. 

The more information she managed to drag from Crowley’s lips, the more confusing this whole thing became. 

_Those holy injuries got there somehow. Crowley says Aziraphale didn’t hurt him… maybe it was this other angel? And…then Crowley hurt him back. Maybe in anger at catching them together again, or… maybe in self-defense? Or both?_

_Not necessarily in that order,_ Crowley had said _._

It made no sense. 

Anathema frowned. “Did you… hurt _Aziraphale_?” 

She was just guessing, now, really. The suggestion sounded wrong even as she said it. In no part of her mind - in no _universe, ever_ \- could she _imagine_ Crowley raising a hand to his beloved angel. 

No matter how desperately Aziraphale needed to have the smug, condescending smile punched off his face. 

Crowley laughed, darkly. “No, I didn’t hurt him. Should have, probably. Should have done _something_ , a long time ago, stopped him before…”

Anathema waited a little while, but Crowley didn’t say anything more. At last she carefully reached out to touch his wrist, well above the place where he was burned. 

Crowley did not pull away. 

“You’ll hate me,” he whispered. 

“I won’t,” she promised. 

She was _almost_ certain it was the truth. She couldn’t imagine Crowley doing something so terrible that she wouldn’t be able to forgive him. 

“Crowley… I’m your friend,” she reminded him. “And whatever this is, it’s… it’s killing you. You have to get it out. Tell _someone_. Right?” 

“Right.” Crowley nodded, raking a hand back through his hair, the single word shaky, but quietly certain, as if he’d reached a decision. “Right…” 

Anathema nodded with him, gently, encouragingly squeezing his arm, and he rested his free hand - very lightly, very gingerly - over hers, still not looking at her. 

“I know it’s hard to talk about it,” she acknowledged softly. “But… is it gonna be _easier_ … with _anyone_ else?” 

“No,” Crowley conceded at last in a hoarse whisper, shaking his head. Then he nodded slowly. “Okay. I - I want to tell you. I - I will. Okay. I just…” He swallowed hard, reaching up with a trembling hand to take the sunglasses from his face and put them in his pocket. He glanced at her, lips parted - then immediately covered his eyes with one hand, wincing. “Just… give me a minute, yeah? I just… need a minute…”

“Whatever you need,” Anathema assured him. “I’m here.” 

Crowley lowered his unsteady hand from his eyes, lips parted to speak. 

“I - I was just trying to make sure we - we were safe. After…” 

An abrupt, insistent pounding on the front door of the cottage interrupted Crowley’s faltering start. The demon tensed, glancing toward the door with wide, solemn eyes, one hand clenching in his hair as he lowered his head, shaking it slowly in defeat. 

“That’s him, I guess,” Anathema concluded grimly. 

Crowley nodded. 

“Crowley? _Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale called through the door, his voice unusually shrill and frantic. “Crowley, I know you’re in there, the Bentley is parked in the drive! Crowley, please just talk to me!” 

Crowley lifted his eyes despairingly toward the door. Anathema reached out to touch the back of his hand, and he turned his wide, golden gaze toward her, impossibly lost and uncertain. 

“You don’t have to,” she assured him. “Ignore him. Whatever happened… you need a minute. You said so. You need to… _process_ , to decide what you want to do, without his interference. You don’t have to talk to him. We don’t have to answer the door at all.” 

“ _Crowley_!” Aziraphale’s pounding on the door became more furious, more aggressive, with every minute. 

“Go away!” Crowley yelled back at him. “I don’t want to talk to you, angel, just go!” 

There was silence for a moment, and then Aziraphale’s voice, tearful and fervent, even muffled as it was through the door. “I’m not going to do that, Crowley. I’m not going to walk away from us - from what we have, what we’ve - _created_ , together. And you shouldn’t either. It’s worth more than that. Crowley, please… please just _talk to me_ …”

“6000 years,” Crowley whispered, unspeakably sad eyes focused on the door. 

Anathema squeezed his wrist gently. “And it didn’t mean enough to him for him to keep it in his pants.” 

Crowley went still, his jaw setting with anger - and for a moment, Anathema thought she had pushed too far. She braced herself, already regretting the too-honest words that would send him right through her door and back to the desperate angel pounding nearly hard enough to break it down. 

Crowley’s hand clenched into a fist, and Anathema winced; it had to be painful, given the burns across his palm. 

“Fuck off, Aziraphale!” Crowley snapped, raising his voice. “ _Just leave_!” 

“ _Crowley_ !” Aziraphale gasped, offended, sputtering a little as he persisted, “Love, _please_ just open the door. Please give me a chance to explain…” 

Crowley lifted a hand and snapped his fingers - and all at once, Aziraphale could no longer be heard. Anathema could see the door jerk and vibrate as he continued to pound on it - but couldn’t hear the pounding itself. Couldn’t hear his urgent words, desperately trying to convince Crowley to let him back in. 

A slow smile spread across her lips with the realization. 

Crowley had magically sound-proofed her house. 

“See how _you_ like it,” he mumbled, glaring at the battered door with resentment. 

Anathema had no idea what he was talking about, but she was tremendously relieved that he did not seem to be willing to listen to Aziraphale’s lies and excuses at the moment. She carefully wrapped an arm around his shoulders, sliding in close beside him. 

“You’re doing the right thing,” she assured him. “You need to take a minute. Figure out what you want to do. Not just…”

All at once, her words broke off as Aziraphale just _appeared_ on the other side of the coffee table. His eyes were wide, nearly manic - and lit up with delight when he saw Crowley. He began to move around the table toward him. 

He didn’t even seem to be aware that Anathema was there. 

“Crowley, my love… you _must_ listen to me…”

“ _No_ .” Crowley rose swiftly to his feet, backing away from Aziraphale, away from the sofa, toward the door. “No, I’m _done_ listening to you, with your lies, and your manipulations, you’re _done_ , angel. _We’re_ done. Just go…”

“No,” Aziraphale declared, eyes blazing with disbelieving outrage, his words trembling but fierce. “No, I - I refuse to accept that. Not until you’ve heard what I have to say, Crowley, I _know_ I can make you understand…” 

“Afraid I already do.” Crowley’s mouth turned up in a sad smile. He cast an uneasy glance toward Anathema, before returning his focus to Aziraphale, wary and uncertain. He seemed to reach a decision, taking another step toward the door. “Sorry about this, love,” he said, directing the words to Anathema. “I’ll call you…” 

With a single snap of his fingers, Aziraphale was no longer in the middle of the living room, but behind Crowley - blocking the door. Crowley spun around, too stunned to pull away as Aziraphale firmly grasped his arms and turned him so that his back was pinned against the door, holding it closed, making escape impossible. 

“No, Crowley. No, you must listen,” Aziraphale insisted, quiet and firm. “You have to understand that everything I’ve done, every last bit of it has been for _us_ . To keep us _safe_ . To _protect_ us from further attack…”

“Attack?” Crowley barked out, disbelieving. “Didn’t look like he was planning on doing any _attacking_ , angel,” he snapped, angry and tearful. “Looked like you had him right where you want him - and you have for some time, haven’t you? Never mind what _I_ want… never mind what you _promised me_ …” He laughed - a sad, bitter sound that set a chill in Anathema’s blood. “You’ve had _me_ right where you wanted, too, haven’t you?” 

“Honestly, my love, there’s no need for such melodramatics,” Aziraphale sighed, but his voice was trembling and anxious. His eyes were wide and wild, and the breathless little laugh that escaped his lips sounded forced. “I’ve been honest with you. I know what you saw, but I explained that to you, didn’t I, why I _had_ to? I didn’t know he was coming tonight, Crowley, I didn’t _plan_ it, he just… _showed up_ …” 

Anathema stared at him in disbelieving outrage. “Well, of _course_ , then it all makes sense,” she declared. “He was _there_...” 

Aziraphale cast a glare in her direction before turning back to Crowley, continuing, “... intent on seducing me.” 

“... so what else could you do besides fuck him?” Anathema concluded, with a disgusted sneer. 

Aziraphale turned toward her then, eyes flashing dangerously, jaw set - and Anathema felt a sudden rush of fear. Instinctively, she took a backward step. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Crowley snapped, his eyes darting to her for a moment, wide and worried - and she realized that he was very deliberately drawing Aziraphale’s focus back onto himself. “I’m done with your explanations. Your stories that make just enough sense to keep me hanging on. Coming back. I’m _done_ , angel, _let go of me_!” 

Aziraphale didn’t move, his hands remaining clenched tight on Crowley’s arms - his eyes wide and injured as he shook his head in wordless denial. “Crowley, _no_ …” His grip tightened, and Crowley winced a little, closing his eyes for a moment. 

Anathema’s stomach lurched with the subtle confirmation of her fears. 

“ _Aziraphale_.” She made her voice as firm as she could manage, though something in her quailed at the thought of drawing this furious entity’s attention onto herself. “I think you should leave…”

She was both relieved and incensed when he utterly ignored her. 

“That’s really what you think of me?” he demanded of Crowley, wounded, tears in his eyes. “After all these years? You can’t trust my word? You think I’m a liar?” 

Crowley glared back at him through his own tears, defiant, hurt. “And you think I’m a fool.” 

“I _don’t_ , Crowley, I _love_ you!” Aziraphale insisted, shaking Crowley slightly in his frustration, and Crowley winced as his back was shoved against the door. 

Anathema’s instinct was to try to help her friend, but to her shame, she hesitated. She had a feeling it’d be a little like an ant attempting to physically intervene in a struggle between - well, between an angel and a demon, actually. Two eternal beings, either of which alone was infinitely more powerful than her best efforts to come between them. 

Crowley tried to pull free of Aziraphale’s grasp, and Aziraphale just held on tighter, catching Crowley’s wrist when he managed to pull his arm away. Against her better judgment, Anathema found herself stepping forward anyway, when Crowley drew in a sharp hiss of pain. 

“Aziraphale, you’re _hurting_ me,” he said, low and tense. “ _Let go_.” 

Aziraphale froze, looking down at the place where he held Crowley’s wrist - and then at Crowley’s badly burned palm. His eyes went wide, and he released Crowley’s other arm, focusing his attention on the injury instead, lifting Crowley’s hand in both of his. 

Crowley jerked it away, his jaw clenched with frustration at finding himself trapped against the door, helpless to stop Aziraphale from hemming him in, with his useless hands too painful to push the angel away. He clenched them into fists, hiding the burns from Aziraphale’s sight. 

But the knowing look in the angel’s eyes made it clear - he’d seen enough to understand what had happened. 

Anathema still had no idea. 

Aziraphale’s expression softened, though there was a reproachful look of betrayal in his eyes. “This is what comes of helping him,” he said, dark and grim. “Of _listening_ to him. Crowley, can’t you see he’d have said _anything_ to turn you against me? He’s deceived you…”

“ _You_ deceived me,” Crowley argued, stubbornly certain, turning his gaze back to meet Aziraphale’s eyes with quiet, fierce accusation. “I saw what you did to him, angel.” 

Anathema frowned. 

That was… an odd choice of words. 

_Not… with him, but… to him…_

It troubled her, and she wanted to ask about it, to take a moment to figure it out - but the argument was continuing without her, swift and furious - and she was already finding it impossible to keep up. 

“He didn’t have to say a word,” Crowley continued, shaking his head slowly, a bitter smile tinged with disgust on his lips as he held Aziraphale’s gaze. “When he realized that he _had_ … that he’d accidentally said too much… he was _terrified_ , angel.”

There was a cold light in Aziraphale’s voice, a frighteningly soft menace. “He should be. Starting this kind of trouble, doing everything in his power to come between us…”

“No. _You_ did that, angel. All on your own.” Crowley winced, lowering his gaze at last in shame, swallowing back a sob as his eyes welled with fresh tears. “Suppose I helped, a little, didn’t I?” 

Aziraphale’s expression softened with something that looked for all the world like genuine anguish. “Let me heal your hands, my love,” he offered, gently coaxing, reaching for Crowley’s wrist again. 

“No,” Crowley croaked out, sharp and hoarse, as he jerked his hand away hard enough that he accidentally slammed it into the door. He winced with pain, twisting it behind him, out of Aziraphale’s reach. “Had it coming…” 

“Crowley, don’t be silly, love…” 

Crowley glared up at Aziraphale, challenging, disbelieving - and Aziraphale’s patronizing words faded away. He swallowed hard, drawing in a shaky breath at something he saw in Crowley’s defiant eyes. At last, Aziraphale backed up a step, his hands extended in front of him in placating surrender. 

“What - what do you need?” he asked softly. “To trust me again. To - get past this. Crowley, just tell me, whatever it is, I’ll see that it happens. That you have it.” 

Crowley stared down at the floor for a moment, before looking up at Aziraphale with sorrowful, knowing eyes. “I’d ask you to leave him alone. Just that. But - we both know you won’t.” 

To Anathema’s stunned disbelief… Aziraphale did not deny it. 

He at least had the sense to look guilty, as he lowered his gaze, his words soft and apologetic. “Crowley, you know I can’t just… let him go entirely.” 

Anathema blinked, staring at the angel, horrified at his _nerve_ \- to stand there facing Crowley and _openly admit_ that he had no intention of ending his affair. Though, she was beginning to understand that there was more to this than a simple affair - much more. She couldn’t begin to figure it out, but she was certain now that there was much more at stake here than she had previously assumed. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Crowely said, soft and listless, eyes falling to the floor again. “Don’t think it’d make a difference, now.” 

“Don’t say that,” Aziraphale pleaded, hushed and horrified. “Crowley, love… there has to be a way… something I can do to prove myself to you…”

Crowley looked up at him, then glanced at Anathema before meeting his gaze again. “My friend has asked you to leave her home,” he said, quiet and controlled. “You could begin by respecting that request.” 

Aziraphale looked at Anathema with a thinly veiled hostility that made her feel suddenly very exposed, very uneasy - before he looked back at Crowley again. 

“I can’t just… walk away. We need to work this out…”

“Funny, how you’ll do _anything_ ,” Crowley pointed out with quiet frustration. “Except for what I ask…” 

“Crowley, no, it’s not that, you must be _reasonable,_ darling…”

“For the first time in a long time, I am,” Crowley declared. “I need some time. I need to - to think. And - I need you to give me the space to do that.” 

Aziraphale stood there for a moment, helplessly silent - his hands were no longer touching Crowley, but were clenched into white-knuckled fists. His eyes were wide with barely controlled panic, and a trapped sort of expression. 

“All right… all right, my love,” he said softly, relenting at last, taking another step backward, giving Crowley a bit more room. “Whatever you need…”

The moment he had the space to do so, Crowley moved away from the door and opened it - then stood there holding it open, eyes downcast as he waited in silence for Aziraphale to leave. 

“You just… take as much time - as much as you need,” Aziraphale stammered, taking a step toward the door. His tone hardened slightly. “In the meantime - well, I can assure you, I intend to have quite the serious conversation with Gabriel about all this. These - lies and manipulations. You may choose to believe him if you wish, my love, but I’ve no intention of letting his deception stand…”

Crowley let out a harsh laugh, glaring up at Aziraphale. “ _Of course_ that’s where you intend to go from here.” There was a strange, bitter triumph in his eyes as he held the angel’s gaze. “Good luck with that. He’s gone where you can’t follow. Or you know… _won’t_. If you’ve any sense left in your head. Which, I’ll admit…” He shrugged, his lips tight with anger and disgust. “Debatable.” 

A flash of irritation crossed Aziraphale’s face at the caustic, mocking words. He smiled, and it was cold - incongruous with his gentle, placating approach to Crowley thus far. 

“I won’t have any trouble finding him,” he declared quietly. “He left a few things at the bookshop. I’m sure he’ll be back for them.” 

Crowley’s grin broadened. It was an unpleasant, vindictive sort of expression Anathema had never seen on his face before, and never wanted to again. 

“Nah. Sent them off with him. He’s got _no reason_ to come back to you, angel.” 

Aziraphale smiled, unfazed. “He doesn’t realize he’s left these particular belongings,” he explained. “I… put them away for him. Quite some time ago.” 

Crowley’s face fell. 

“Don’t worry, my love,” Aziraphale continued in a tone of false innocence. “When I see him… I’ll make quite certain he’s incapable of doing any further damage.” He took another step toward the door. 

Anathema was stunned, and deeply confused, when Crowley closed the door before he could walk out, his head bowed in defeat. 

“ _Wait_ ,” he said quietly. 

“No,” Anathema protested. “This is my house, and I don’t _want_ him to wait!” 

Crowley looked up at her, his gaze heavy and troubled, and Anathema softened. “Crowley, I have to admit,” she said, an urgent, pleading note in her words, “I - don’t exactly feel safe with him here. I’d rather he leave.” 

Aziraphale turned to face Anathema, and her heart clenched at the cruel amusement on his face, the icy glint behind his beatific smile. 

“I can help you with that, my dear,” he offered. “Allow me to ease your fears…” 

Anathema did not understand how such a seemingly kind offer could sound so chillingly threatening, but instinct drove her backward a couple of steps as the angel advanced on her. 

Crowley reached out, catching Aziraphale’s wrist with one singed hand.

“ _Don’t_.” 

Aziraphale turned back toward Crowley, relenting with a sigh and a warm smile - all of the cold menace draining away in an instant, as if a switch had been flipped inside him. 

“You’re so good at tempering my worst impulses, darling,” he said, enthusiastically appreciative. “Such a positive influence of… gentleness, and restraint. Without you, I simply… don’t know _what_ I’d do.” He paused, the hint of a sly smile at the corner of his mouth, eyes downcast as he shrugged slightly. “I suppose… Gabriel will find out, soon enough.” 

Crowley’s jaw was set with clear frustration, uncertainty in his eyes. 

“He took all your little gifts with him,” Crowley pointed out, as Aziraphale reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “There’s nothing left for you to…” 

His voice trailed off, and Anathema saw that Aziraphale had something in his hand - something of delicate silver design, and tiny stones that sparkled in the light - a beautiful watch. 

“Just this,” Aziraphale conceded. “Which does little good if he isn’t wearing it.” he looked up at Crowley, calm and controlled, with a calculating gaze. His voice was very soft, speculative. 

“When Gabriel _does_ come for his things… just how long do you suppose it’ll take me to convince him to put this back on?” 

Anathema didn’t really understand the conversation; she’d been a bit lost throughout most of it. 

But the question was clearly a threat. 

Aziraphale was somehow taunting Crowley with some specific aspect of his illicit relationship with this Gabriel - warning him against some distasteful action he intended to take, if Crowley didn’t change his mind and agree to go home with him. 

_Wait… Gabriel?_

It was not the first time Anathema had heard the _name_ of Crowley’s rival - but all at once, details from the books she’d been studying came to her mind, with startling realization. 

_As in… the_ archangel _Gabriel?_

It was just adding another piece to the puzzle that seemed to not fit, and make the rest of it harder to solve, and possibly belong to a different puzzle entirely. She didn’t understand what the bit of pretty jewelry in Aziraphale’s hand had to do with anything, or what was the meaning of the _gifts_ Crowley had mentioned, or how either Crowley or Aziraphale could manage to _hurt_ a damned _archangel,_ at all. 

None of it made any sense - and she didn’t have time to think about it too closely, because Crowley was speaking again, a heavy resignation in his voice that set off fearful alarms in her head. 

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t… call him. Leave him alone. And… I’ll come home.” 

“ _Crowley_ …” Anathema protested, quietly dismayed. 

Aziraphale pointedly, deliberately stepped between them, blocking her from Crowley’s sight with his own considerably larger frame. His face was no longer within her line of vision, but his voice was all warmth and love, and she could clearly visualize the hopeful, pleading expression in those impossibly blue eyes. 

“To stay?” 

“To _talk_ ,” Crowley said, and she knew him well enough to know he was trying for firm - but there was a wavering, an uncertainty, in the words. 

“Crowley… please, no,” Anathema objected, ignoring Aziraphale, and the clench of panic in her own gut when he turned toward her, eyes narrowed and cold again. 

Crowley reached up and turned Aziraphale’s face, firmly focused his attention back onto himself. “On one condition, angel.” 

“Name it,” Aziraphale said without hesitation. 

It was just another lie. Crowley _already had_ told the angel what it would take to bring him home, more than once - and Aziraphale had refused. 

Crowley held out his hand. “Give me the watch.” 

Aziraphale hesitated. “If he isn’t wearing it, then he’s fully capable of…” 

“He’s fully capable of fuck-all,” Crowley snapped. “He’s not a threat, and hasn’t been one for a long time.” 

Aziraphale still hesitated, lips parted as if to protest, but saying nothing, just silently staring at the watch - and Anathema found herself staring at it, too. 

_It’s a weapon. Or… a restraint, of some kind. Is it why they could hurt an archangel?_

“That’s my condition,” Crowley said firmly. “Take it or leave it, angel.” He was quiet a moment, before amending softly, “Take it… or _leave_.” 

Aziraphale handed it over. 

Anathema’s heart raced as Crowley tucked the watch away into the pocket of his jacket. He’d won this little stand-off - but still, his shoulders fell with defeat. 

“Crowley,” Anathema tried again, her voice trembling with apprehension. “I don’t think this is a good idea…”

“It’s all right, love,” Crowley assured her, deliberately moving to stand between her and Aziraphale, and pushing Aziraphale lightly toward the door. “I know what I’m doing, I - I need to work this out.” 

She frowned, troubled, glancing over his shoulder at Aziraphale. “I’m not sure you can do that… with _him_.” 

“I know what I’m doing,” Crowley said softly. “What… what I _have_ to do.” 

“Well, that makes one of us,” Anathema muttered unhappily, accepting a hug from her friend before he backed toward the door. 

“I’ll call you,” he promised. “I’ll… explain everything.” 

“Really?” She gave him a dubious look, a single brow raised. 

He winced, rolling his eyes a little, caught. “I’ll explain _some_ things,” he amended. 

Anathema shook her head, her heart sinking. “Crowley…”

“Later,” he said firmly, then turned his back and headed for the Bentley. 

Anathema watched helplessly as he approached the driver’s side of the car, while Aziraphale seemed to be struggling with the locked passenger door. For a moment, Anathema allowed herself to entertain the hope that Crowley would just get in and drive away without him. 

For another moment, she had the unsettling feeling that if he did, it would probably end very badly for _her_. 

But then, Crowley tapped the top of the car a couple of times as he opened the door - and suddenly, the passenger door opened easily in Aziraphale’s hand, and the angel was able to get inside. 

And just like that - they were gone. 

And Anathema was left to try and make sense of the strange, unsettling conversation she had just witnessed - and to desperately hope that her best friend was going to be all right. 

She went inside and closed the door, staring unhappily at her still and silent phone for a long moment, willing Crowley to call her, knowing that it was too soon - hoping that he would be true to his word and call her _at all_. 

She picked it up and dialed Newt’s number, suddenly unspeakably grateful for her own relationship, and the safety and respect she felt in it. She smiled despite her worries when she heard him answer. 

“Hey, love…” There was surprise, and a note of concern in his words. She didn’t usually call him at work. “Everything all right?” 

“Yeah,” she didn’t so much lie as desperately hope it was true. “I just… needed to hear your voice.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, ya'll - check out this AWESOME Repo/DiP crossover work by the lovely and talented mevima!!!! <3 <3 <3 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27542191
> 
> Short but very sweet (and by sweet I mean dark and exciting and intriguing) ;) 
> 
> Left me dying for more... hope you enjoy!!! <3 
> 
> Also... please check out this collection of lovely art that's been created for this story!!!! 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548221
> 
> Leave a comment/kudos and let the artists know you like it!! <3 <3 <3

Crowley stood still, frozen with indecision, in the doorway of Anathema’s house, a place where he tried never to linger. After so many weekly visits that he’d lost count, the burn of the horseshoe over her door was still present every time he passed the threshold... though he seemed to notice it a little less with every visit. 

He couldn’t even feel it now. 

His entire world was imploding, his heart crushed under the weight of a reality he’d been trying for too long to deny; but there was no escaping the evidence laid out before his eyes, earlier that evening, and in this very moment. 

There was no denying the fear in Anathema’s dark eyes as they passed swiftly between Crowley’s face, and Aziraphale’s, warily watching the angel, unsure of what he’d do next… and the  _ blind fury _ on Aziraphale’s face as he’d turned on her, with clear menace, with a level of malicious intent that Crowley had only ever seen in those blue eyes when they were focused on  _ one person _ . 

_ He wouldn’t hurt Anathema. Not like he’s hurt Gabriel…  _

It was a weak reassurance, indeed. Aziraphale could inflict a lot of damage on a mere mortal like Anathema before he came  _ even close _ to the level of brutality Crowley had read in the marks on the archangel’s body when he’d walked into the backroom that night. 

_ Wouldn’t hurt her like he hurt him.  _

_ Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her.  _

Crowley swallowed back the thick ache in the back of his throat, his eyes burning with painful betrayal. 

_ He hurt  _ me _. Aziraphale hurt me _ . 

No, Aziraphale hadn’t realized that Crowley was injured when he’d grabbed his hands. But he hadn’t let that knowledge stop him from holding Crowley’s arms, pinning him against the door -  _ taking advantage _ of Crowley’s pain in order to control him, to keep him right where he wanted him. 

Crowley knew two things, with perfect, certain clarity. 

He did not want to go  _ anywhere _ with Aziraphale. 

And he  _ had _ to go with Aziraphale.  _ Right the fuck now _ … before he did something to hurt Anathema. 

_ He wouldn’t… would he? _

_ I… don’t  _ think  _ he would… _

Crowley gazed into the wild, fierce eyes of the warrior he’d always been thankful to never have met - lit with a vindictive thirst for victory, for violence. He imagined that this must have been how Aziraphale looked in battle during the Rebellion, when facing down a demonic foe - set on carrying out judgment, intent on destruction - and  _ absolutely certain _ of his own righteousness in doing so. 

No… Crowley couldn’t be sure of anything. Wasn’t sure he even knew Aziraphale anymore. 

Or… had ever known him at all. 

Aziraphale had  _ offered _ to alter Anathema’s mind and memories, when he’d seen her as a close friend of Crowley’s whose affection and approval he dearly wanted to earn - but it was clear now, after what she’d seen and heard, that he was never going to have either. 

What would Aziraphale be willing to do to Anathema  _ now _ , when she was nothing more to him than an obstacle standing in the way of his getting Crowley back - nothing more than a problem in need of solving? 

“I’ll call you,” he promised, unable to quite meet her eyes as he hugged her. 

He had no explanation he could offer. He knew she couldn’t possibly understand why he had agreed to go with Aziraphale. 

He had to get Aziraphale out of her home. 

He had to protect her. 

He had to… to buy some time. 

_ “He left a few things at the bookshop. I’m sure he’ll be back for them…” _

Aziraphale had the means to summon Gabriel - something that belonged to the archangel, tucked away somewhere in the bookshop. 

_ Should have thought of that. Should have looked harder, made certain nothing was left behind…  _

Clever angel, always had made careful preparations for what-ifs and contingencies. Crowley was usually good at that sort of thing, too. He thought of the safe behind the framed drawing in his flat, and the thermos of holy water that had stayed there, untouched for more than 50 years. 

_ That’s right where this watch is going, the moment I can get away, long enough to get it there… hide it away, where Aziraphale will never think to look for it... _

For all the good it would do. 

Crowley had sent Gabriel away to Heaven, believing he’d be safe there - and he  _ wasn’t _ safe at all. 

Because… Aziraphale was right. 

As long as Aziraphale possessed anything belonging to Gabriel, he could summon him to the bookshop anytime he liked, and Gabriel would have no choice but to go to him. And despite the fact that Aziraphale’s mysterious powers of hellfire were nothing more than an illusion, it was clearer to Crowley with every moment that passed… every dank and rotting puzzle piece newly slotted into place, in the grotesque picture taking shape in his mind… 

As far as Gabriel was concerned… Aziraphale’s power was very,  _ very _ real. 

Aziraphale didn’t have to actually be able to  _ hurt _ Gabriel in order to be capable of  _ utterly fucking wrecking _ him. 

All it would take was a few carefully chosen words, the right amount of subtle pressure applied, to convince Gabriel to put that watch right back on himself.

Crowley had the watch, he reassured himself - and the hellfire weapons were safely out of the bookshop, somewhere in Heaven - hopefully well on their way to destruction. 

_ If they aren’t destroyed… Gabriel would bring them right back to Aziraphale. In a heartbeat, if he told him to.  _

_ He’d do  _ anything  _ Aziraphale told him to do.  _

And with that clarity of understanding fresh in Crowley’s mind, he knew exactly what he had to do. 

_ Whatever it takes to undo what I did - to make sure that Gabriel is safe.  _

_ Gotta make sure I’ve found and destroyed anything Aziraphale might still have that belongs to the archangel. Gotta stay just long enough to make sure Aziraphale can’t get to him... _

_ … and not a moment longer.  _

It was all so clear to Crowley now, faced with the cold cruelty in Aziraphale’s eyes. 

Aziraphale wasn’t his angel anymore. 

Aziraphale was an absolute fucking  _ monster _ . 

It was a devastating realization - more than Crowley could process at the moment. 

There’d be time, later. 

Once he’d undone as much of the damage he’d caused as possible. 

“Thank you, darling,” Aziraphale sighed, relief evident in his soft exhale. To Crowley’s stunned dismay, he reached out a hand to rest high on Crowley’s leg as Crowley pulled out onto the road. “Thank you so much for coming ho-” 

The words finished with a startled yelp as Crowley slammed on the brakes, hard enough to make Aziraphale throw up both hands to brace against the dashboard, and still nearly collide with it. Aziraphale cast a wide-eyed, accusing look at Crowley, drawing in an indignant gasp. 

Crowley’s burned palms _ throbbed _ where they gripped the steering wheel, trembling as he flexed them slowly, carefully, before taking hold of the wheel again with a lighter, easier grip. He held Aziraphale’s gaze with a furious, challenging glare. 

“You are  _ fucking kidding _ .” 

Aziraphale’s face fell, and Crowley looked away, his jaw setting with stubborn determination, before he could get drawn into the blue depths of the angel’s all-too-expressive eyes. 

_ Imagining _ the wounded expression he would see there was difficult enough. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began again, careful and infuriatingly  _ patient _ . “I know you’re angry, my love. I know you think you’ve every right to be, but… if you’ll only let me explain…”

“ _ Enough _ ,” Crowley snapped, accelerating hard enough to slam Aziraphale backward into his seat and once again cut off the rest of whatever he was going to say. 

It was  _ immensely _ satisfying. 

“Enough lies,” Crowley continued, biting off the words, quiet and low in a vain attempt to disguise their trembling. “Unless you’re ready to admit what you’ve done and talk about finding a way to - to undo it…” 

A vivid picture flooded Crowley’s mind of the trembling, pleading archangel, broken on the backroom floor. 

_ “Please don’t... please don’t tell him I told you…”  _

Crowley shook his head, trying uselessly to clear it of the image. 

_ Can’t be undone, not this. Not ever.  _

“The liar here is Gabriel,” Aziraphale declared with grim, quiet anger. “Crowley, he wants you to hate me. He wants you to leave me. He wants you to believe that this is all my fault, and I’m somehow the villain in this story, when I’ve done  _ nothing _ to him he hasn’t brought on himself.” 

_ It’s… my fault… I didn’t mean to, wasn’t  _ trying  _ to seduce him… _

Crowley shuddered, glaring up at Aziraphale again. 

“You, fucking him,” he snapped. “Against his will.  _ Raping _ him, Aziraphale.  _ That _ , he  _ brought on himself _ ?” 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the road ahead of them. When he spoke, his jaw was stubbornly set. 

“That never happened.” 

Crowley stared at him for a long moment before turning his own gaze on the windscreen, quietly composed. 

“This is pointless if you aren’t going to tell me the truth.” 

“I  _ am _ telling you the truth,” Aziraphale insisted. Then his expression faltered, and he let out a short, shaky sigh. “Perhaps…” he amended quietly. “... perhaps I’ve let it be a… a possible consequence of disobedience, in his mind. A - a threat, to ensure his compliance. He was… clearly  _ afraid _ of it happening, ever since… well, once  _ you  _ suggested that it  _ might _ happen, Crowley.”

It felt like a slap. 

A guilty ache in his chest, Crowley lashed back, “After I caught you getting blown by him in the backroom, you mean.” 

Aziraphale simply nodded - no denial, no apology. “And _ you _ brought up the possibility that things might be taken further than that. Yes, you made it very clear it was  _ not  _ what you wanted, but… I saw the  _ look on his face _ , Crowley, and… well… it was… a useful fear. That’s all it was, an… effective threat. But I  _ never once _ took it  _ any farther _ than the threat.” 

Crowley shook his head slowly, aghast at the calm, rational tone in which Aziraphale described the part of what he’d done that he was willing to admit to. Tears blurred his vision, obscuring the road, as a horrified, despairing whisper escaped his lips. 

“Who  _ are _ you?” 

He couldn’t see to drive, couldn’t focus on anything but the widening chasm in his chest, the lonely ache of all he was losing - or only just realizing he’d lost long ago. Crowley swiped angrily at the tears that streaked his face, jerking away when Aziraphale reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm. 

Aziraphale persisted, catching Crowley’s arm in a firm but gentle grasp. 

“I have to  _ drive _ ,” Crowley muttered. 

He didn’t. The Bentley knew the way. 

“It’s me, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, leaning in close, with soft, pleading urgency. “Same as I’ve always been, my love, I’m yours,  _ your angel, _ and you can  _ trust me _ . I’d never hurt you, I’m telling you the truth, I would  _ never _ …” 

“I don’t want you to touch me right now.” 

Crowley’s words came out with a hushed, clear certainty that silenced Aziraphale’s excuses - a soft, weary expression of what Crowley felt that he hadn’t meant to say aloud. Aziraphale’s hand went very still, but did not let go of Crowley’s arm. Crowley looked up to meet his eyes with a silent, pointed question in his own. 

Aziraphale…  _ hesitated _ . 

And when at last he did let go, his hand faltering as he reluctantly withdrew it, Crowley’s heart sank with the certainty that it wasn’t out of any sense of respect for Crowley’s right to refuse him, so much as that at this  _ particular moment _ , Aziraphale was trying to make the point that he respected consent, that he  _ would _ honor a “no”. 

He wasn’t a monster… wasn’t a  _ rapist. _

Crowley closed his eyes, and all he could see was Gabriel’s terrified face, violet eyes wide with panic as he desperately tried to convince Crowley of the same lie Aziraphale was trying to sell now. 

_ “Please, I swear nothing happened, not this time, not any time, he - he only punishes me, he doesn’t…” _

And then, small and pleading, despairing, a few moments later… 

_ “Please, he’ll be so angry… he’ll hurt me so much, please…”  _

Crowley looked up into the innocent, earnest eyes of the angel he’d loved for so long, and…  _ knew _ , beyond any trace of doubt. 

_ He’s guilty. He’s done this.  _

Crowley had no idea just when Aziraphale had changed into the sort of being who could do these things.

But... he knew _ how _ . 

_ You gave him the idea. Put it in his head, showed him how _ effective  _ a threat it could be.  _

_ Your fault. You’ve corrupted him… too much time, too close to your infernal, wicked nature. You’ve taken this creature of love and light and beauty… and you’ve destroyed him.  _

_ Destroyed them both.  _

_ It’s what you do, isn’t it?  _

“Crowley… Crowley,  _ please _ …”

“Don’t,” Crowley said, soft with exhaustion, holding up one reddened hand to halt Aziraphale’s attempts to convince him. “Just… we’ll talk when we get… back.” 

The rest of the ride back to London took place in heavy silence. 

Crowley felt that heaviness follow him, bearing down on his shoulders as he approached the bookshop door.

It was the last place he wanted to be - and he had nowhere else to go. 

Crowley paused on his way to the stairs, glancing warily toward the backroom door. It was standing open, dark inside. In the light that filtered through the doorway from the shop, Crowley could just barely make out the empty bar hanging from the ceiling… the hazy outline of Aziraphale’s desk.

_ Didn’t check the other drawers, didn’t even open them, you bloody fool.  _

_ That’s where it is - whatever he has of Gabriel’s.  _

Crowley would have to come back down here when Aziraphale was distracted, search until he found… whatever it was, take it, destroy it, so that Aziraphale would have no means of calling Gabriel back to the shop. 

_ As long as he stays in Heaven… he’ll be safe.  _

Crowley walked away from the backroom door, and started up the stairs, Aziraphale following close behind him. They reached the main floor, and Crowley turned to face Aziraphale as the angel firmly closed the door. 

It felt… ominous. 

Final. 

_ Trapped…  _

Crowley shook his head a little, trying to clear it of the irrational fears that began to creep into the edges of his mind, trying to focus instead on the less terrifying unpleasantness of the awkward tension that had settled between the two of them. He tensed when Aziraphale drew in a trembling breath and took a step toward him, watching him with pleading eyes as he reached out to gently, carefully take hold of Crowley’s wrist. 

Crowley stayed very still. 

He knew if he pulled away, it would hurt, even if Aziraphale  _ did _ respond by letting go. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said softly. “For coming home.” 

His hesitant eyes faltered their way into contact with Crowley’s - and a stricken expression came over the angel’s face, as he sadly dropped Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley turned away, arms crossed - then immediately spun back around to face Aziraphale, blazing with fury. 

“You expect me to believe that you just… told him you’d rape him… as a fucking  _ punishment _ , just to you know…  _ keep him in line _ , because _ that’s _ a thing that a person with a  _ single shred of decency _ would  _ actually do _ ...” he snarled, scathing and disgusted. 

Aziraphale’s lips parted to argue, his brow furrowed with dismay. 

Crowley wasn’t finished. 

“... and it worked. He was scared to death of you forcing yourself on him, scared enough that he changed everything about himself to please you, to keep that from happening…” Crowley scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as he concluded, “... so scared that he came here tonight… dressed in an outfit he knows is  _ exactly everything you hate _ about him… with the intent to  _ seduce _ you.” 

Aziraphale looked stuck for a moment, mouth agape, before he seemed to recover, drawing in a breath and letting it out in a huff of frustration. 

“I can’t account for his reasoning, love,” he sighed, shaking his head, a note of contempt in his voice. “But I’m not at all surprised he expected me to fall for it. He’s never had all that much respect for my intelligence, we both know that. And as I’ve told you, he’s… insufferably arrogant, and… not particularly bright.” 

The flippancy of the inadequate explanation… the cool, callous tone of Aziraphale’s words… was a jarring contrast in Crowley’s mind with the image of Gabriel’s stark terror, his desperation to avoid further suffering at Aziraphale’s hands. 

One image carried with it a disturbing authenticity. 

The other did not. 

_ He’s barely even trying to cover his lies now. Weak, flimsy excuses he expects me to just accept.  _

_ Because… I always have.  _

_ How long? How long has he been lying to me? Since…  _ before _ Gabriel?  _

Even with the undeniable factor of Crowley’s corrupting influence, this behavior -  _ this Aziraphale _ \- was simply irreconcilable with the memory Crowley cherished of an anxious angel standing with him on the wall of Eden… an angel who’d just given away his flaming sword to a couple of scared, vulnerable humans… an angel who’d sheltered Crowley under his wing at the slightest suggestion of his fear… just in case the impending storm might have carried with it a touch of divine wrath in the rain. 

“We’ll summon him,” Aziraphale sighed, decisive. “Have him come here and explain himself, to both of us. You’ll see, Crowley, I’m telling the truth. This was all his doing…”

_ “It’s my fault… please don’t be angry with him…” _

“Yes,” Crowley drawled, sarcastic. “Because there’s even a  _ chance _ that he’ll say  _ anything _ but exactly what he thinks you want him to say.” 

Aziraphale frowned, shaking his head. “Crowley…”

“We’re not summoning him, Aziraphale,” Crowley declared. “We’re not bringing him here, we’re going to _ leave him the fuck alone _ . Let him get on with his eternal existence, and we’ll get on with ours.” 

Aziraphale’s displeasure at the idea was clear on his face - but it was swiftly followed by a swell of hope in his expressive eyes, a faint smile of realization on his lips as he lifted his uncertain gaze to Crowley’s. 

“Together?” 

Crowley hesitated. 

Right now, the very thought made him ill. 

But then, so did the thought of walking out the bookshop door alone and never seeing Aziraphale -  _ his _ Aziraphale,  _ his angel _ , his sole companion for millennia - ever again. 

Did that person even _ exist  _ anymore? 

“We’ll see,” Crowley found himself saying, the words coming out faint and trembling. 

Crowley tried to ignore the light of hope in Aziraphale’s eyes as he took the watch from his pocket.

Easy enough, the way Aziraphale’s demeanor instantly shifted, his attention immediately locked onto the watch in Crowley’s open palm. Crowley looked up at him, appraising and speculative. 

“Give me the ring, too.”

Aziraphale hesitated, parting lips bearing an unspoken objection - but then he closed them, swallowing as he removed the ring from his finger and held it out to Crowley. 

Crowley closed his eyes, and his hand around both pieces of jewelry together. When he opened both, the watch and ring were gone - transported safely, miraculously, to the security of the safe. Crowley was fairly certain Aziraphale didn’t even know it existed. He’d never spent much time in Crowley’s flat, at all. 

Aziraphale gasped, distressed. “Crowley, you didn’t… didn’t destroy them…” 

“No.” 

Crowley wished it could have been so easy. 

There was a considerable amount of effort that went into destroying hell-forged weapons and other infernal devices. 

There was, without fail, a process… a _ ritual  _ to their creation. And these ill-fated creations of Crowley’s had been no exception. Unmaking such things was even more difficult than creating them. More steps to the rituals, more difficult ingredients required. More power expended in the effort. Crowley wasn’t exactly sure why that seemed to the natural rule of things. Perhaps it was an inherent lesson about how once you put an evil out into the world, it wasn’t so easy to just take it back. 

_ Yeah, got it. Message received, loud and clear.  _

“Where did you put them?” Aziraphale asked, anxious hands fidgeting together in front of him. 

Crowley suppressed a smile that would not have gone unnoticed or under-analyzed by Aziraphale, at his own very honest answer. 

“Somewhere safe.” 

_ I’ll unmake them later. When Aziraphale isn’t around to try to stop me. When I can get the proper supplies, and some time alone at the flat to perform the ritual.  _

_ When I don’t have to worry about him summoning the archangel while I’m gone.  _

Aziraphale frowned, moving closer to Crowley. “My love... I’m willing to do whatever you need me to do to prove that you come first for me,” he promised, soft and infuriatingly tender, drawing in a shaky breath. “But…” 

Crowley braced himself, feeling the tiny part of himself that couldn’t help but open in the warmth of his angel’s affection snap shut again. 

“... we  _ cannot  _ simply release him as if nothing ever happened. You  _ do know _ that, don’t you? We have to have  _ some _ means of controlling his behavior… ensuring that he isn’t a danger to…” 

“He isn’t.” Crowley’s tone was quietly unyielding. “You can’t look at him for two seconds and think he’s anything resembling a threat anymore, angel.” 

A sad, bitter laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head, then turned his face away. 

“But… this isn’t about that anymore, is it? I’m not sure it ever was.” 

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale persisted softly, moving a little closer, reaching out to touch Crowley’s wrist. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us…”

“That’s a fucking lie.” Crowley jerked his hand away, tears in his eyes. “It’s been for _ you _ , what  _ you _ wanted, you don’t even  _ care _ what I want anymore…”

He backed away as Aziraphale advanced on him, moving around the coffee table and out of the angel’s reach. 

The angel followed. 

“Nonsense, Crowley,” Aziraphale protested, reproachful and unbearably gentle as he pressed in closer to Crowley. “I love you more than anything…”

Crowley tried to avoid Aziraphale’s reaching hands, but found no further space left for him to retreat. His knees hit the back of the sofa, and Crowley went down with a soft but sudden impact. Aziraphale immediately followed, sitting down close beside him, one hand closing around Crowley’s arm. 

“Stop,” Crowley growled, trying to pull his arm away. 

Aziraphale’s grasp just became firmer, pushing Crowley back against the sofa when he tried to rise. 

“Take your hands off me!” Crowley hissed, struggling, frustrated at the condition of his hands that made his resistance pathetically ineffectual. 

Aziraphale didn’t let go. 

“Crowley, please,” he said, calm and reasonable. “Please calm down… please just listen…”

“ _ Stop it _ !” 

Crowley tried again to sit up as Aziraphale shifted in closer to him, pinning him with his own weight, and his strong hand on Crowley’s arm. A jolt of fear shot through Crowley as Aziraphale reached out to run his free hand through Crowley’s hair, soothing and sympathetic. 

“Angel, I said _ stop. I don’t want you to touch me _ !” 

“Shh, love, don’t make such a fuss, you know I’d never hurt you…” Aziraphale assured him in a hushed, sorrowful tone, shaking his head, his eyes sad and reproachful. 

Crowley jerked his head away from Aziraphale’s hand, his breath quickening with alarm. His sunglasses were on the coffee table at Anathema’s house, he realized all at once. 

He desperately wanted them back. 

“So now you’re going to force yourself on  _ me _ , too?” he spat out, glaring up at Aziraphale, defiant through tears. “Just take what you want?” 

“Hush, love, I’d  _ never. _ ” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, aghast, his voice soft with horror - but his hand followed Crowley’s retreat to touch his hair again. “Just relax, my darling, just calm down…” 

The hushed, soothing sound of Aziraphale’s voice had an almost hypnotic quality, and in spite of himself, Crowley found himself sinking into the strange sort of calm reassurance it carried. 

_ You’re safe… of course you’re safe. Aziraphale would never hurt you… Aziraphale would never hurt anyone, unless he had to…  _

_ No.  _

_ No, that’s… that’s not true… _

_ You saw… you saw it yourself, he…  _

“Stop,” Crowley objected. “Stop, I - I don’t want to…” But the words felt heavy on his tongue. 

His eyes felt heavy, too. 

“Angel… angel, stop it…” 

“Shhh,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking Crowley’s hair with slow, rhythmic motions. “There’s nothing for me to stop. I’m not doing anything to you, Crowley. You’re safe. I’d never hurt you, my love, you’re safe with me… just rest…” 

His free hand rested lightly on Crowley’s arm - no longer holding him pinned to the sofa. 

Crowley wasn’t fighting him anymore. 

When did he stop fighting? 

_ Why _ did he…? 

A rush of alarm rose up in Crowley’s mind, but it felt… muted. Far away. 

“Please… angel,  _ please _ …” 

Like a false feeling, that didn’t really matter all that much - especially when Aziraphale spoke to him again, gentle and comforting, easing the sharp edges of Crowley’s panic until they faded away.

“My poor darling, you’re exhausted. It  _ has _ been a night, hasn’t it? Just rest… that’s it, sleep, love…” 

Crowley didn’t  _ want _ to sleep. 

He’d only just opened his eyes… and he meant for them to stay that way. 

“No,” he protested, the word coming out hoarse and thick. “No, I don’t… don’t want to… not going to… to let you…” 

His voice trailed off, a faint frown creasing his brow, as he tried to remember what it was that he wasn’t going to let Aziraphale do… tried to figure out what exactly Aziraphale was doing. 

He was doing something… Crowley was aware of that much. 

And then, all at once… aware of nothing at all. 

******************************************************************************************************

“Yes, that’s it… just like that, my love… just sleep…” 

Aziraphale watched with warm affection as Crowley’s golden eyes fluttered, struggling fiercely to stay open for a few moments longer, before his dear demon succumbed to sleep, his body going still and soft on the sofa beneath him. Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair back gently, then drew back enough to carefully lift Crowley into his arms. 

He carried him into the bedroom. 

With a blink, he drew the bedclothes back and laid Crowley down, then sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He frowned critically, looking over Crowley’s still form. 

_ He can’t rest like this…  _

Aziraphale stood up and carefully removed Crowley’s shoes and socks, arranging the shoes neatly at the foot of the bed, and tossing the socks into the hamper in the closet. Then he painstakingly unbuttoned Crowley’s shirt, unfastened his jeans, and laid the clothing neatly across the back of the chair beside the bed. A miracle carried the soft gray sleep pants and black t-shirt Crowley typically wore to bed - when he wore anything at all - to Aziraphale’s hands. 

Aziraphale’s hands lovingly dressed Crowley in them, then drew the blankets up over him with careful, gentle attention. 

He sat down on the side of the bed again, gingerly taking Crowley’s hand - frowning, troubled, at the injuries that remained there. 

_ Damn you, Gabriel. You’ll pay dearly for this, my dove.  _

Aziraphale took Crowley’s other hand as well, closing his eyes and focusing all of his energy on healing the burns. After a moment, he opened his eyes to examine Crowley’s hands. The raw redness had faded away, healed completely - but in its place were white, textured scars, still covering both of Crowley’s palms. 

Aziraphale tried again, exerting all the healing power within him - and found to his dismay that when he had tried for all he was worth, the scars still remained. 

His frown deepened. It didn’t make sense. 

_ The blessing on the cuffs isn’t  _ that  _ strong, not strong enough to scar…  _

Aziraphale sighed regretfully, folding Crowley’s hands neatly across his chest, then patting the back of the uppermost one gently. 

There were other matters that required his attention. 

He shook his head sadly. “This is what comes of your misplaced mercy, darling,” he murmured. “Sympathy for a wretched, selfish creature who by no means deserves it.” 

He leaned down as he rose to his feet, to press a soft kiss to Crowley’s temple. 

“Rest, love,” he said tenderly. “I know it all looks very dire right now. But a nice, relaxing nap has always done you good. Just rest, and when you wake, you’ll see. All will be well.” 

Aziraphale turned off the light and closed the door before heading out of the apartment and down the stairs to the backroom. He went directly to his desk, where he turned on the lamp, illuminating the room with a faint golden glow. Pensive, he opened the drawer where he kept his trophies, taking them out one by one and examining each for a moment before placing it on the top of the desk. 

The cuff links that had been one of the very first items he’d taken from Gabriel’s appallingly offensive ensemble… the sword pin Gabriel had worn when he first came to the bookshop… the gold pen he’d taken from Gabriel’s desk. 

He smiled a little to himself. 

“My sweet, silly Crowley,” he murmured. “I know he  _ thought _ he was doing the right thing.” He sighed, shaking his head slowly, a bit mournfully. “ _ Saving _ me. From myself.” 

As he spoke, he carefully replaced each item in the drawer, and then closed it firmly. 

“Thought he was doing  _ you _ a kindness. Saving you from me.” 

He turned away from the desk, toward the punishment bar suspended close to the ceiling - so close that the captive archangel chained to it, blindfolded in the darkness, was forced up onto his tiptoes. He was naked but for the tie wound around his eyes, shivering with the cold, and the painful strain of the difficult position in which he’d been left for… well, if it had been  _ anyone but  _ Gabriel, Aziraphale would have thought it’d been far too long. 

But it  _ was _ Gabriel. 

And Aziraphale wasn’t even close to finished with him. 

He took his time moving in close, allowing each single footstep to resound in the stillness of the room. The only sound besides Aziraphale’s own voice was the harsh sound of Gabriel’s shallow breaths, the faint rattle of the chains with his trembling. Aziraphale stopped behind Gabriel, his body flush against the archangel’s bare skin. He placed his hands on Gabriel’s hips, slowly sliding his arms around him from behind, and shifting in to speak, soft and low against his ear. 

“But... I don’t  _ need _ salvation…” 

He relished Gabriel’s flinch at the contact, followed by careful stillness, resistance to his own instinct to resist. Aziraphale continued, hushed and warm against Gabriel’s ear. 

“And none is coming for you… is it?” 

Aziraphale pressed in close, well aware of the way the rough textures of his outer garments scraped against the countless marks he’d left across the back of Gabriel’s body. Gabriel shivered with pain, and Aziraphale smiled as he dragged him back against him firmly, feeling his own desire harden against Gabriel’s ass. 

Gabriel felt it, too. Aziraphale knew by way his lips parted in a soundless sob, and he shook his head, silently pleading, but despairing of any chance of mercy. 

Aziraphale lifted one hand to run through Gabriel’s hair, drawing his head back onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, before cupping his jaw from behind, fingers clamping tight and painful as he hissed out the words with vicious triumph. 

“Crowley came home to me. Did you hear, when we came in?” 

Aziraphale felt Gabriel try to nod, though Aziraphale’s grip on his face made it difficult. 

Aziraphale put his lips to Gabriel’s ear in a low, menacing snarl. “You  _ hurt him _ .”

Gabriel shuddered, gasped, tried to deny it, shaking his head desperately. 

Aziraphale just clamped down harder, jerking Gabriel’s head back. “You tried to turn him against me. Convinced him to  _ leave me _ . But he’ll always come back to me… he’ll  _ never _ leave me, my dove…”

Gabriel shivered violently in Aziraphale’s grasp, hot tears leaking from beneath the blindfold and sliding down over Aziraphale’s tightly clenched fingers, though not a single sound escaped the archangel’s lips. 

Aziraphale relented at last, letting go of Gabriel long enough to move around in front of him, to face him. Gabriel slumped against the cuffs that held him up, harsh, shuddering gasps drawn into his lungs as Aziraphale unwound the tie from across his eyes. He waited patiently while Gabriel blinked into the dim lighting until his vision came into focus on Aziraphale’s face. 

“And neither…” Aziraphale punctuated his words with a soft kiss to Gabriel’s temple, ignoring the way he cringed away from the contact, drawing back to meet his frightened gaze with a warm smile. “... will you.” 

Aziraphale brushed Gabriel’s sweat-damp, disheveled hair back to better reveal his harrowed, weary eyes, bright with panicked tears. 

It was regretful, he thought, that the blindfold which served to so intensify Gabriel’s fear, to prevent any distraction from the suffering of his punishment - also served to cover those eyes, shielding the brilliance of the archangel’s panic and desperation from Aziraphale’s sight. 

Aziraphale cupped Gabriel’s face in both hands, close enough to capture his gaze and hold it, to nurture the terror there with a cruel, malicious smile. 

“Crowley’s resting now,” he informed his captive softly. “He’s had a  _ very _ difficult night.” 

He allowed his expression to harden, his disgust and anger revealed by the unhappy twist of his mouth - and reveled in the way Gabriel lowered his eyes, tears collecting in long lashes, lips wet and trembling with silent sobs. Keeping his voice soft, but relentless in its accusation, Aziraphale demanded,

“Whose fault is that?” 

_ “My fault… my fault…” _

Gabriel’s lips formed the words, again and again, but no sound escaped them. 

“That’s right...” 

Aziraphale lowered one hand to brush his thumb across a patch of scorched skin on Gabriel’s side, feeling a vicious sense of satisfaction when Gabriel’s face contorted with pain; he shuddered, but didn’t dare try to pull away. 

“I believe I ought to do something about that,” Aziraphale mused. “Administer punishment. Yes?” 

Gabriel shook his bowed head, desperately, wordlessly pleading. 

“Of course… I wouldn’t want to  _ disturb _ Crowley,” Aziraphale continued, frowning at the false dilemma. “He needs his rest, after all you’ve put him through tonight.” 

He firmly grasped Gabriel’s chin, tilting his face back up toward him, a wordless command to eye contact. Gabriel complied, panic in his gaze, tears flowing freely. Aziraphale met his pleading gaze with a broad smile, allowing his own delighted satisfaction to shine through in his eyes. 

“Oh, that’s right…” 

His mouth twisted with vicious intent as he dug his thumb into the raw, seared skin beneath it. Gabriel’s body arched, going rigid with agony, and Aziraphale’s free hand went to his other side to steady him, to hold him still, as he raked his nails down Gabriel’s side, across several more of the innumerable marks that criss-crossed the crowded canvas Aziraphale had made of Gabriel’s flesh. 

Gabriel’s head went back, his lungs filled with breath for a panicked, agonized scream… that left his lips without a single sound. He gasped in a desperate, shuddering breath, letting it out in soundless, hopeless sobs, as Aziraphale stroked his hair, chuckling softly as he leaned in close, his words hushed and private against Gabriel’s ear. 

“... that’s not going to be a problem. Is it?”


	23. Chapter 23

_ “I think I’m just gonna lie down a bit… need a minute, yeah? Need to - to think.” _

_ With some reluctance, Aziraphale allowed Crowley to go into the bedroom alone, watching him with a furrowed brow.  _

_ They were in the  _ middle _ of a  _ conversation _.  _

_ He could be patient, Aziraphale decided. If Crowley needed a little time to process what he’d seen and Aziraphale’s explanation for it - to draw his conclusions surrounding the… unexpected unpleasantry he’d witnessed, well… Aziraphale could leave him alone with his thoughts for a while.  _

_ He only wished he might have a bit of…  _ input _ , into those thoughts. Nudge Crowley’s analysis along in the  _ appropriate _ direction.  _

_ Aziraphale sighed, glancing with worried eyes toward the bedroom door every now and then as he wandered the apartment, restless and uncertain as to how long to give Crowley alone, and how to pass the time while he waited. He selected a book and sat down on the sofa, but couldn’t seem to find the focus to actually read it.  _

_ He knew what he  _ wanted _ to be doing at the moment, where he wanted to be - down in the backroom, reducing what was left of that abhorrent suit to shreds, and with it Gabriel’s back and legs and ass and the lingering remnants of his  _ blasted nerve _ , the  _ audacity _ that had empowered him to put the damned thing on at all, to disobey Aziraphale’s orders and to  _ tell Michael _ …  _

_ Aziraphale caught a breath, closing his eyes and steadying himself as he let it out slowly.  _

He  _ didn’t _ tell Michael. He came dangerously near to it, but… he didn’t. 

Unless he’s lying. 

_ Aziraphale considered the prospect for a moment… and then dismissed it with a huff of dark amusement, shaking his head a little as he looked down at the words on the page - but saw only the vivid new memory of Gabriel’s huge, fearful eyes, his desperate, choked confession. He had come here of his own volition, pleading mercy for sins which Aziraphale would have otherwise had no way of knowing had ever been committed.  _

_ No. There was no way Gabriel was lying.  _

_ Still… Aziraphale needed to find out just how much  _ had _ been discussed between the two archangels. He needed to get the rest of the story from Gabriel, and he needed to ensure that Gabriel would never even  _ consider _ revealing such details of their arrangement to anyone else again.  _

_ He shifted uneasily in his seat, with an embarrassed glance toward the bedroom door as he subtly adjusted his trousers.  _

_ He needed to… to finish what he had started.  _

_ Aziraphale glanced at the clock on the wall, and saw that thirty minutes had passed since Crowley had disappeared into the bedroom. He rose from the sofa and went to the bedroom door, knocking softly.  _

_ No answer.  _

Perhaps he’s fallen asleep. 

_ Aziraphale turned the knob slowly and pushed open the door, an affectionate smile on his lips as he peered around it, hoping to find his demon lost to the world, sleeping on the bed they shared. He’d cover him up with a soft blanket, perhaps whisper over him a bit of…  _ encouragement _ to sleep a bit deeper. To remain undisturbed by any sounds he might hear, drifting up from the backroom, while Aziraphale continued his very important...  _ conversation _ with Gabriel.  _

_ All at once Aziraphale froze... alarmed to find both bed and bedroom completely unoccupied.  _

_ He hurried down the stairs, stopping short on the shop floor when he saw the backroom door standing wide open.  _

_ Crowley was nowhere to be seen.  _

_ Aziraphale’s heart raced, a cold knot of dread sinking in his stomach as he crossed the threshold, afraid to find that room just as empty as the rest of the building.  _

Crowley _ wasn’t there, but it was clear to Aziraphale that he had been. The mess - abandoned by Aziraphale in favor of ushering Crowley to the safe comfort of their home - had been cleaned up, every surface pristine, clear of the various spatters of blood Aziraphale had left there. The surface of the desk was clean - the bar hanging from the ceiling, spotless, no longer bloodstained.  _

_ And the quiet archangel, kneeling, trembling beneath it - he had been cleaned up, too.  _

_ He was dressed in his casual clothing again.  _

_ Aziraphale glared in annoyance, eyes swiftly scanning the room. There was no sign of the celestial suit he hadn’t quite finished destroying.  _

_ Gabriel’s hands were extended in front of him, palms up in a wordless plea, trembling, and unfettered by the hellfire cuffs.  _

_ The cuffs were instead laid out in front of him on the floor - part of a neat procession made up of all of Aziraphale’s implements of penance - the whip, the cane, the blade, and the cuffs, arranged in a line as if in preparation for Aziraphale to make a selection.  _

_ And before them, nearest to Aziraphale, lay the gloves - side by side, openings facing him, like an invitation to put them on.  _

_ An invitation… or a plea.  _

_ Aziraphale took a few careful, measured steps nearer to Gabriel, watching him closely, and relishing the way his trembling intensified with Aziraphale’s approach. Gabriel’s shoulders fell, and he wrapped his arms protectively around his body, bowing low over his knees as Aziraphale closed the distance between them.  _

_ Gabriel flinched, choking off a despairing sob, as Aziraphale reached out a hand to cup the back of his head, fingers sliding into his hair - deceptively gentle, for now, like the soft, hushed accusation that fell from his lips.  _

_ “Oh, my sweet dove… what have you done?”  _

_ ********************************************************************************************* _

_ “Thank you…” Gabriel whispered, clinging to the hand of his would-be savior, the demon who had, inexplicably, shown him kindness.  _

_ Crowley pulled his hand from Gabriel’s grasp, his gaze averted, his words low and rough.  _

_ “Go. Don’t come back.”  _

_ And with that, he was gone.  _

_ Gabriel wasn’t going anywhere.  _

_ He appreciated deeply what Crowley was  _ trying _ to do - though he couldn’t see the point.  _

_ Crowley had healed Gabriel’s ravaged wrists, easing the burn of the hellfire that was already beginning to eat into them again. He’d released Gabriel from the agonizing position in which Aziraphale had left him - though Gabriel knew without question that a worse punishment would follow in its wake.  _

_ He’d attempted to  _ set Gabriel free _.  _

_ But… there was nowhere to go.  _

There is no place I can’t find you, my dove... _ Aziraphale’s words echoed in his mind with dreadful certainty.  _ Nowhere you can ever go to escape me...

_ Gabriel couldn’t begin to understand why Crowley believed anything else could be true. What good would leaving do Gabriel? How could Crowley think that he’d be safe in Heaven, at all - when Aziraphale would only come after him?  _

_ And how many innocents would cross Aziraphale’s path on his way to Gabriel? Whose lives would be the cost for Gabriel’s useless defiance?  _

_ An aimless underling with unlucky timing who might just happen to get in Aziraphale’s way?  _

_ The assistant, who’d taken Gabriel’s messages, back when he still got messages?  _

_ Michael?  _

_ Perhaps Crowley believed that Aziraphale would be too careful to return to Heaven, despite his intimidating level of power, after Heaven had already attempted to execute him once. Of the two traitors, surprisingly, Crowley had always seemed to be the more careful. He’d expressed clear disapproval of many of Aziraphale’s actions over the past few months. Perhaps he’d also disapprove of Aziraphale’s returning to Heaven.  _

Aziraphale didn’t tell him he’s already been there, _ Gabriel realized.  _ Crowley doesn’t have any idea. 

_ Gabriel had almost argued with him, almost explained to him why he  _ couldn’t _ simply return to Heaven as Crowley had instructed - and then stopped.  _

_ What would telling Crowley change?  _

_ Gabriel would have spilled one more of Aziraphale’s secrets to the demon - one more pathetic failure to obey, one more measure of Aziraphale’s wrath, soon to be poured out upon him.  _

_ Crowley would linger, trying to come up with some other solution, some way to save Gabriel… when there simply was none.  _

Nowhere to hide from me, my dove… no one who can protect you…

_ Perhaps Crowley would stay long enough, unwilling to leave Gabriel behind, that Aziraphale would come downstairs and find him here. Perhaps they’d argue about it, and maybe Crowley would try to hold firm, but Gabriel knew… the end result would be the same. Only… if he stayed, trying to dissuade Aziraphale, trying to help Gabriel, then… perhaps Crowley wouldn’t actually be able to bring himself to leave, at all.  _

And Crowley  _ should _ leave. Aziraphale will never stop lying to him. 

And... he doesn’t deserve that. 

_ It was enough that Crowley believed him. That he cared. That he saw what Aziraphale was doing to Gabriel, and  _ did something _ \- made an effort to make it stop.  _

_ It  _ wasn’t _ enough - but it had to be.  _

_ Once Crowley left this room, it was the last of mercy that Gabriel would see.  _

_ Gabriel put on the gloves as Crowley had instructed - but only long enough to carefully lay out the instruments of his penance on the floor in front of him, arranged in readiness for Aziraphale’s use. Finally, Gabriel took off the gloves and laid them out - their open wrists toward the door so that they would be pointed toward Aziraphale when he came in.  _

Please use them. Please put them on. 

Please don’t allow your fury to completely consume me…

_ As Gabriel waited for Aziraphale’s inevitable appearance, he considered the casual outfit he wore, and the shredded suit in which Aziraphale had left him. He’d panicked when Crowley had put it back to rights,  _ on Gabriel _ \- his only thought for Aziraphale’s  _ sheer rage _ if he found it restored to perfection, the luxurious folds of fabric once again covering Gabriel’s body. He’d panicked - and he’d destroyed it in a single, frantic moment.  _

_ Aziraphale had wanted to do that himself.  _

_ Gabriel thought about simply vanishing his clothing entirely - waiting naked and completely exposed to whatever punishment Aziraphale determined that he deserved. But… this particular assemblage of garments was the single choice Gabriel had made since he’d come under Aziraphale’s instruction that had  _ actually pleased _ the principality.  _

_ He considered putting the hellfire cuffs back on as well; but the vivid memory flashed through his mind of the one time before when he’d put them on without being told: Aziraphale’s anger at his presumption to know what Aziraphale would want - what level of punishment he deserved.  _

_ Gabriel shivered.  _

_ In his desperation to please Aziraphale, he’d made enough foolish choices - done enough damage.  _

_ He’d know soon enough what level of suffering would answer those choices.  _

_ He remained dressed as he was, on his knees, the cuffs laid out in readiness for Aziraphale, before him.  _

Best to just… wait for instruction. And… whatever he’s going to do. 

_ The sound of footsteps on the stairs dragged Gabriel from his thoughts, from the empty assurance that there was  _ anything _ he could do to prevent Aziraphale’s brutal retaliation when he learned that Crowley had gone. That - that Gabriel had  _ told him _ …  _

I’m so sorry… please, please don’t… please… 

_ And then, Aziraphale was standing over him, quiet fury emanating from him like the heat of hellfire. His hand was gentle in Gabriel’s hair, though it trembled slightly. His entire being seemed to be simultaneously perfectly, frighteningly still - and  _ vibrating _ with rage.  _

_ “Oh, my sweet dove… what have you done?”  _

_ All at once, the words came back - a flood pouring from Gabriel’s lips, sweeping him away on the wave of panic that drove them.  _

_ “I - I didn’t know what to do. He - he fixed the suit, but - I knew you wouldn’t want me to wear it, I knew you hated it, so I - I thought you’d like this better, but - if you want, I can make the suit again, I can - whatever you want, sir, I’ll do it, I just - didn’t know what to do…” _

_ Aziraphale’s free hand was clenched into a tight, white-knuckled fist. He lifted it quickly, and Gabriel flinched at the swift, sharp snap of his fingers. All at once the casual outfit disappeared, and Gabriel was left entirely exposed. His arms dropped from around his torso, hands lowered, faltering and hesitant, as a flimsy cover for his nakedness, his heart a racing flutter in his chest.  _

Is that wrong? Will it make him angry? 

He’s already angry. He’s going to  _ ruin _ you… 

_ Aziraphale’s hand left Gabriel’s hair to cup his cheek with false tenderness, his words carefully, dreadfully quiet and controlled.  _

_ “You should know by now, my dear…  _ this _ is how I like you best.”  _

_ Gabriel shivered under the soft touch, the subtle menace in the words, his mouth dry, lips trembling as he tried to explain.  _

_ “I know you said to - to obey him as if he was you, and… he told me to go, but… you said I w-wasn’t going anywhere, and I - I knew you’d want me to stay, and - I didn’t know what to do…” Gabriel held out his hands in front of him, at a loss, despairing. “I just… waited here for you to come and… and tell me what to do.” His voice dropped to a breathless, desperate whisper. “Please…  _ please tell me what to do _.”  _

_ Aziraphale slowly crouched down until he was facing Gabriel. The hand caressing his face gently tilted it upward, silently commanding eye contact. There was a soft smile on his lips, and a cold light in his eyes. His lips twisted with regret, sympathetic.  _

_ “That’s perhaps the first and only thing you’ve gotten right today.”  _

_ He was quiet for a moment, his smile going grim, as he sighed.  _

_ “Well, I can’t say that I ever doubted you. It’s just as I’ve said, isn’t it? No matter how bad things may be for you… no matter how much punishment you may already be due…” He lifted his hand to gently stroke Gabriel’s hair, shaking his head sadly. “... you can always find a way to make it worse.”  _

_ Gabriel’s heart sank. His lips parted, faltering as he tried to think of some way to express that he was so very, so  _ desperately _ sorry, without those same useless words. He bit his lip, keeping silent and carefully still as Aziraphale took hold of his wrist and lifted it between them, examining it closely.  _

_ Completely healed, unblemished flesh where livid hellfire burns had been.  _

_ “Crowley did this.”  _

_ There was a soft question behind the assumption.  _

_ Gabriel hesitated, lips parted to respond, worried eyes studying Aziraphale’s face. A sense of dread settled into his gut as a new possible consequence to Crowley’s actions occurred to him - a consequence that, for once, might not fall on Gabriel himself.  _

Surely he wouldn’t… he’s angry, but he  _ loves _ Crowley, he wouldn’t… wouldn’t do anything to  _ him _ ? 

_ He couldn’t lie to Aziraphale - Aziraphale would certainly know if he did.  _

_ Would Aziraphale even  _ want _ the truth? Would he be angry at anything that sounded remotely like blame being cast upon his beloved demon?  _

It’s my fault, not his. I’m the one who told him, I’m the one who fucked up, he just… tried to help me, and… 

_ Realization slowly dawned on Aziraphale’s face as he waited, with rising impatience for Gabriel’s continued silence. At last he laughed, cold and startled.  _

_ “You think I’d  _ hurt Crowley _?” He shook his head in disbelief, then abruptly snatched a handful of Gabriel’s hair, jerking his head back sharply, though his voice remained a soft, controlled contrast to his fierce grasp. “ _ Crowley _ is the love of my life. My  _ everything _.” His tone tightened with rising anger as he continued, the words clipped and cold in Gabriel’s ear, “Crowley is not a treacherous, manipulative little whore who attempts to betray me at every turn. I would  _ never _ hurt Crowley,” he declared. “You, Gabriel - you I  _ will _ hurt. Without compunction. Without hesitation, so I will ask you again, my dove, and you will answer  _ at once _. Did Crowley loose your restraints?”  _

_ “Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, his heart racing. “Yes…” _

_ He desperately hoped that Aziraphale was telling the truth.  _

He is. He’s never hurt Crowley before, at least… I’ve never  _ seen… _

_ “Now why would my Crowley do a thing like that?” Aziraphale mused, cold eyes boring into Gabriel and drawing him from his anxious thoughts. “Directly betray my wishes in such a way.” His hand tightened in Gabriel’s hair, dragging his head back a little farther, his tone dropping, hushed and intimate. “However did you convince him to do such a thing?”  _

_ Gabriel shook his head as much as he could manage in Aziraphale’s painfully restrictive grasp, tears filling his eyes.  _

_ “I - I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I th-thought he knew…” _

_ Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, his head tilting thoughtfully as he considered Gabriel’s words - his jaw tightening with rage as realization dawned. His voice was low, taut and trembling.  _

_ “Thought he knew… what, exactly?”  _

_ Gabriel’s breath came quick and shallow, his shoulders shaking, tears thick enough now to blind him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… he came in so angry, and he said I - I was tempting you, and s-seducing you, and I thought - what else would he be so angry with me about?” _

_ The final word broke off in a frightened yelp as Aziraphale rose to his feet, jerking Gabriel’s head back harder. His words were clipped and furious.  _

_ “I don’t know, Gabriel, there are so  _ very many options _ ,” he seethed. He released Gabriel’s hair, just to deliver a breathtaking slap across his face, and then seize hold of his hair again, shaking him. “Any one of your  _ endless fucking failures  _ would do!”  _

_ Gabriel lifted a trembling hand toward Aziraphale’s, desperate to ease the searing, painful pull on his scalp, but he didn’t dare actually touch Aziraphale, or actually try to stop him. Aziraphale glared at his hand and retaliated anyway, his clenched fist twisting in Gabriel’s hair and bending his neck back until he feared it would break.  _

_ “You aren’t supposed to  _ think _ ,” he snapped. “You’re supposed to  _ obey _! And what am I,  _ every single _ blessed day,  _ endlessly _ telling you to do?”  _

_ “Stop talking,” Gabriel whispered, the words slipping past his lips, as small and soft as he could make them. “K-keep my m-mouth shut. Please, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to, I thought he knew,  _ please _ …”  _

_ Aziraphale slapped him again, silencing Gabriel’s pleading words. Then he reached down to snatch up the cuffs from the floor and hurl them at Gabriel with a snarl.  _

_ “ _ Put them on _.”  _

_ Gabriel hurriedly took them up with shaking hands, stammering as he obeyed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I thought you must have told him, I thought he knew, please, sir, please don’t…”  _

_ The instant the second cuff had locked around his wrist, Aziraphale waved a hand imperiously upward, and the cuffs jerked Gabriel up off his knees, off his feet, dragging him up and around so that his back was turned toward Aziraphale, his wrists locked onto the bar which was still set impossibly high. His wrists throbbed with the heat of the hellfire and the full weight of his body dragging against them. Gabriel’s heart thudded, sharp and panicked, against his ribs.  _

_ He could still feel the ghost of unbearable pressure around his neck, the agony of desperate, burning lungs.  _

_ “Please,” he sobbed, gasping. He already felt as if he couldn’t draw breath. “Oh, no, please don’t…”  _

_ Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the bar lowered to its usual level. Gabriel found his footing, and he tried to catch his breath. It didn’t seem that Aziraphale intended to bind him as he had before, so high and tight that he could scarcely draw a breath. But Gabriel barely had time for a moment’s relief before Aziraphale grabbed his hair again and yanked his head back, hard.  _

_ “Do not make me tell you again, Gabriel,” he bit off the words, sharp and measured. “Shut your mouth.”  _

_ Gabriel bit into his lower lip, nodding desperately.  _

_ Aziraphale circled Gabriel slowly, narrowed eyes moving speculatively over his exposed form. He moved around behind Gabriel, out of his line of sight - toward the arrangement of implements on the floor. Gabriel tried to turn his head to look, anxious to see what Aziraphale would choose.  _

_ Immediately Aziraphale turned and stalked back to him, grabbing his head and forcing it down, his chin pressed against his chest. He shook him slightly as he snarled a low, warning command.  _

_ “Do not lift your head. Do not turn around. You keep your eyes  _ down _ , my dove… or I’ll melt them out of your head.”  _

_ Gabriel shuddered, closing his eyes tight. “Okay… okay...” he whispered, breathless with terror - then hurriedly corrected himself. “Yes, sir…”  _

_ Aziraphale held him in that position firmly for a moment longer, emphasizing his point, before he let him go, and moved to stand behind him again. Gabriel could hear the scrape of metal against metal, and metal against wood, as Aziraphale picked the weapons up and set them down again, examining them in turn with a quiet, thoughtful little hum.  _

_ “No,” he said at last, decisive. “I don’t believe I’ll need any of these this time.” His tone darkened with cruel amusement. “Or the gloves, for that matter. I don’t believe you deserve their protection, after what you’ve done. Do you?”  _

_ Gabriel’s stomach clenched with dread. If Aziraphale did not intend to use a weapon, then… that meant…  _

_ “No, sir,” he whispered.  _

_ Submission was best. Acceptance of the consequences of his failure.  _

Be quiet, don’t object, just...just… 

_ “Please,” he gasped out, his heart thudding wildly against his ribcage like the wings of a trapped, panicked bird. “Please, don’t… please…”  _

_ Aziraphale jerked Gabriel’s head back with one hand, the fingers of the other pressing past his lips, pressing together against the roof of his mouth, unyieldingly pushing his head back until his neck was painfully craned backward. His tone was cool, softly warning.  _

_ “I can burn that incorrigible tongue right out of your mouth if I have to. Is that what it’s going to take to render you silent, Gabriel?”  _

_ Gabriel couldn’t breathe.  _

_ Aziraphale’s fingers were soft and warm in his mouth, and he imagined that he could already feel the prickling heat of sparks of hellfire there. Panicked tears slid down his face, and he blinked them away, going very still and very quiet, shaking his head just slightly, almost imperceptibly.  _

_ At last, Aziraphale withdrew his hand, wiping his damp fingers against Gabriel’s bare, heaving chest, before reaching up to touch his face, directing his eyes back toward Aziraphale.  _

_ “You’re going to be very quiet,” he instructed softly. “No matter what happens. Aren’t you?”  _

_ Gabriel nodded, biting his lip to stifle the pleas for mercy poised to spill from his mouth, as Aziraphale circled him slowly.  _

_ “What you’ve done merits  _ severe _ punishment,” Aziraphale declared. “My commands were very clear from the very beginning. Certain things Crowley was never to know. You’ve defied those orders, and now he’s gone.”  _

_ Aziraphale stopped behind Gabriel, and drove his fist hard into the base of Gabriel’s spine, driving what faint breath he’d managed to capture from his lungs and causing his legs to buckle beneath him. Gabriel struggled to find his footing, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, until Aziraphale’s warm hand braced against Gabriel’s side from behind him, steadying him, easing him back onto his feet, and speaking softly into his ear.  _

_ “You haven’t any right to complain,” he stated. “You’ve brought this on yourself, every second. Do you understand?”  _

_ Gabriel nodded again, tears rolling down his face and falling against the wood panels beneath him.  _

_ “Very good.” Aziraphale moved around beside Gabriel and firmly pressed his head down against his chest again. “Close your eyes, my dove,” he quietly commanded.  _

_ Gabriel obeyed, and there was nothing but darkness, and the softly steadying touch of Aziraphale’s lethal hands, the hushed, leading tone of his voice.  _

_ “Don’t open them,” he ordered. “And don’t move.”  _

_ Gabriel nodded, gasping, trying to fend off an overwhelming sense of panic, as Aziraphale shifted in closer, his clothing brushing lightly against Gabriel’s bare skin. He trailed the fingers of one hand slowly, teasingly, over Gabriel’s body - tracing the line of his hip, sliding between his legs to cup him lightly… and then squeezing fiercely.  _

_ Gabriel choked back a cry of startled pain.  _

_ “These particular parts never get much use, do they?” Aziraphale mused. “I don’t believe anyone would mind if I burned  _ these _ away…” _

_ Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth pressed so tight against his lip that he tasted blood.  _

Please, no, please don’t, I’m so sorry, please don’t… 

_ Aziraphale released him at last, then slid a single finger from the back of Gabriel’s neck, slowly down the center of his back. He withdrew it - and then touched Gabriel again, in the same exact spot.  _

_ Only this time, the touch was  _ searing _ , a trickle of flame sliding down his spine in molten, all-consuming agony. He tried to pull away, thrashing with pain and panic, his head thrown back as he uselessly struggled against his restraints; but Aziraphale wrapped his free arm around Gabriel’s waist and pulled him close, held him still.  _

_ “ _ Don’t _ ,” he snapped, low and warning.  _

_ “Please,” Gabriel sobbed, frantic, breathless. “Please no, please stop…” _

_ “Quiet,” Aziraphale demanded, his fist in Gabriel’s hair shoving his head down again. “Your mouth is testing my patience, dove, I don’t think you would like me to lose it.”  _

_ Gabriel choked back sobs, his hands clenching into helpless fists over his head.  _

_ The pinpoint burn of Aziraphale’s touch left his back - only to burn a similar path, slow and searing, up the back of Gabriel’s thigh. Then, Aziraphale’s hand was soft and cool again, almost soothing, as he slid it along Gabriel’s side, softly shushing him. The next touch burned again, scorching heat against his hip. Aziraphale continued, alternating gentle, harmless touches with the punishing agony of hellfire, until there was no part of Gabriel’s body that did not feel aflame.  _

_ He couldn’t tell the difference anymore. Even the soft brush of Aziraphale’s fingertips felt like fresh fire against Gabriel’s skin, already seared raw.  _

_ “No,” he moaned, the sound tearing from him as he struggled to hold it back. “Please, no… please stop…”  _

_ Aziraphale made a disapproving tutting sound, trailing a single finger slowly up the cleft of Gabriel’s ass. Gabriel shivered, though Aziraphale wasn’t burning him this time - hadn’t burned him there at all.  _

_ Yet.  _

_ Without warning, with nothing to ease the way, Aziraphale plunged his finger inside of Gabriel. He choked back a scream at the biting pain of the sharp intrusion. Aziraphale only drew back his hand and then drove the finger in again, harder, as if maliciously trying to  _ force _ Gabriel to break his silence.  _

_ He kept quiet, stifling pained sobs, as Aziraphale filled the silence with vicious, accusing words.  _

_ “Worthless little whore,” he snarled in Gabriel’s ear as he forced a second finger in alongside the first. “Waiting until the very first chance you saw… the moment my back was turned… to try to turn my Crowley against me. To spill all the things I’d told you to keep secret…”  _

_ He withdrew his hand, and jerked Gabriel’s head back with one fist, his voice a low, menacing hiss.  _

_ “If you’ve cost me Crowley, Gabriel… if I’ve lost him because of you…” _

_ All at once the brutal intrusion was back - the momentary sharp pressure of entrance, immediately overwhelmed by the agony of hellfire. It was all Gabriel could feel, the fierce burn of the hellfire inside him, searing his insides as Aziraphale drew back and forth. Sharpness, pressure - every other sensation swallowed up in flaming torment.  _

_ And Gabriel was  _ screaming, _ flailing in mindless struggle against his restraints, crying out in helpless, panicked agony. His feet scrabbled uselessly against the wooden floor, unable to carry him away from his torment - but managing to connect at least once with Aziraphale’s calf. The dull thud, the feeling of impact, and the principality’s low grunt of pain were followed by another swift, sharp blow to the base of Gabriel’s spine - sending an electric jolt of pain all throughout his body, and causing his legs to collapse under him.  _

_ “Damn you, Gabriel,” Aziraphale seethed. “I’ve had  _ enough _ of your  _ incessant mouth _.”  _

_ The hand that was not flooding Gabriel with hellfire from the inside out rose to cover his mouth. Aziraphale’s lips brushed against Gabriel’s cheek, his breath hot as he murmured a couple of soft Enochian words, and then took his hand from Gabriel’s mouth to instead wrap around his waist, dragging him back onto his feet and holding him still so that he could continue his brutal assault, plunging in and out, fire searing Gabriel’s body with every back and forth drag inside him.  _

_ Gabriel knew he was going to be punished even worse - because there  _ was  _ worse, there was  _ always _ worse, and he always managed to find it - but he couldn’t keep back the strangled scream of agony that bubbled up in his throat, spilling from his lips unchecked…  _

_ … and utterly soundless.  _

_ Gabriel’s eyes flew open, staring up at the bar above his head, and he screamed again - but not a single sound left his mouth. He struggled frantically, seized by panic - no longer attempting to keep silent, but trying for all he was worth to make some sort of a sound, to access his voice, just to prove that he  _ still could _.  _

_ He couldn’t.  _

_ His voice was locked away, as inaccessible to him as his miraculous power - both, useless in the face of Aziraphale’s horrifying abilities.  _

_ “Ah, yes,” Aziraphale sighed, his pleased relief quiet but clear in the silence. “Yes, that’s  _ much _ better.”  _

_ His hand at Gabriel’s side dug in viciously, his lips twisted in a malicious sneer against Gabriel’s cheek as he renewed his assault - fresh hellfire against the softest, most sensitive parts of Gabriel’s burned and ravaged flesh. There was nothing but endless pain and mindless terror - Gabriel’s screams, silent and utterly unheard, until his throat burned too, as raw and shredded as his insides.  _

_ After what felt like an eternity, Aziraphale at last withdrew and stepped back, allowing Gabriel’s limp, weary body to collapse against the cuffs at his wrists. He was sobbing - deep, wrenching sobs that took his breath and the last remnants of his strength - but not a sound passed his lips.  _

_ Aziraphale’s hand reached out to touch him, and Gabriel flinched away violently, his stomach lurching at the thought of the hellfire in those gentle fingers, so near to his face. Furious, vindictive, Aziraphale grasped his jaw and forced his head back to where he wanted it.  _

_ “Open your eyes,” he snapped.  _

_ Gabriel obeyed, blinking away tears, staring into Aziraphale’s face with pleading, unbridled panic.  _

_ “You should be grateful for my restraint,” Aziraphale snapped. “You have possibly cost me the most important thing in my entire life - my relationship with Crowley. And yet, I’ve managed to exercise enough self-control to avoid utterly annihilating you. Despite my anger. Despite the fact that you most certainly  _ deserve _ annihilation.” He shifted in close, fingers biting cruelly into Gabriel’s face, voice hushed and leading. “You should thank me.”  _

_ Gabriel’s entire body quaked with the after-shocks of the violent assault, burning with agony, but… there was still worse.  _

_ Burned alive, to ash, from the inside out - that was worse.  _

_ And Gabriel could still see the possibility there, in Aziraphale’s cruel eyes, blazing with fury.  _

Don’t make it worse.

“Thank you… thank you…” 

_ His lips formed the words, and he desperately tried to speak them, tears of helpless frustration and terror streaming from his eyes. Aziraphale had demanded his silence - but he’d demanded his thanks, too. Would he be punished for this as well - this failure to properly express his gratitude for having been spared such a brutal fate?  _

_ Aziraphale gently cupped Gabriel’s cheek, closing his eyes over a blissful smile, as if savoring the silence - and then opening them again, trailing a thumb across Gabriel’s trembling lips to still his vain attempts at speech.  _

_ “Oh, my sweet dove,” he smirked. “It was  _ truly _ my pleasure.”  _

_ Aziraphale did not heal a single one of the injuries he’d inflicted.  _

_ Instead, he snapped his fingers to shorten the chains, dragging the bar slowly up higher until Gabriel was precariously balanced, agonizingly trapped between the hellfire cuffs that seared his wrists, and the unbearable pressure of attempting to support his entire body on barely more than his toes. With a satisfied nod, Aziraphale left Gabriel to the agony of the burns that covered his body, inside and out - pain so intense that he was barely aware as Aziraphale moved about the room, putting away his tools.  _

_ Gabriel’s body shook with all-over tremors of shock and pain as he listlessly watched Aziraphale walk to the backroom door. The principality examined it for a moment with a critical frown, before snapping his fingers. Gabriel thought he saw a faint shimmer pass from the center of the door to its outer edges before vanishing completely - but he couldn’t be sure. Sparks of colored light obscured his vision, already hazy with pain and exhaustion.  _

_ Aziraphale turned back toward Gabriel with a warm smile, and Gabriel’s stomach plummeted under his renewed attention.  _

_ But Aziraphale walked right past him to the desk, opening a drawer and shuffling a few things around. Once he’d found what he was looking for, he came to stand directly behind Gabriel, tugging his head back to tie something around his eyes, blinding him. Aziraphale grasped the knot at the back of Gabriel’s head to hold him still as he pressed a soft kiss to his jawline.  _

_ “You just wait right here, my dove,” he said, his tone light and cheerful. “I’ll be back soon… I’m going to bring Crowley home.” He pulled hard on the knot, jerking Gabriel’s head back, and his voice lowered with warning, sending a shiver down Gabriel’s spine. “And from now on... I’ll fuck you whenever I  _ damn  _ well please… and if you speak a word of it to Crowley, well… next time I’ll be  _ far _ less forgiving.”  _

_ “Yes, sir…” _

_ It was habit by this point, the required response on Gabriel’s lips - but no further, the words formed but the sound trapped in his throat.  _

_ And then, there was nothing but darkness, and pain, and stifling silence.  _

_ Gabriel tried to speak - to cry, to scream, to get  _ any sound at all _ to pass his lips - but his voice had been utterly taken from him. He tried to catch his breath - at least, that he could hear, the soft shuddering rush of air, drawn into and expended from his lungs. He tried to calm down, tried to focus enough to  _ think _ \- but the sheer, utter helplessness of his situation overwhelmed him. Panic coiled around him slowly, squeezing, choking, until he struggled against the unyielding bonds, screamed at the top of his lungs - uselessly, silently.  _

_ At last he slumped against the burning cuffs, sobbing into the empty darkness.  _

_ He would not be able to form a single word, not a sound, unless Aziraphale decided to give him his voice back.  _

And why would he, ever? 

He likes me just like this… 

_ Gabriel’s mind raced with panic. Aziraphale couldn’t send him back to Heaven like this… but…  _

_ Perhaps he did not intend to send him back to Heaven.  _

_ Ever.  _

_ Perhaps this was his fate, from this moment on - Aziraphale’s captive toy, kept in utter darkness and desolate solitude, except when Aziraphale came to use him… to punish him.  _

_ An endless series of suffering after suffering, without even the mercy of being allowed to cry. _

_ Trapped in silence, always.  _

_ And the panic was choking him again, clenched fists pulling against the cuffs over his head, chains creaking, but unyielding - blood trickling, thick and cool, down his scorched and aching arms. His throat ached with the exhaustion of his vain attempts to be heard… if only by himself.  _

_ Gabriel wasn’t sure how long he was there before they returned - two sets of footsteps outside the open backroom door.  _

_ Aziraphale - with Crowley.  _

_ He held his breath, his heart hammering with fear - for the first time since Aziraphale had left him there,  _ not _ wanting to be heard. Aziraphale’s voice spoke, too hushed and muffled to make out the words.  _

_ Crowley said nothing.  _

_ But then, Gabriel heard both sets of footsteps ascending the stairs - together.  _

Crowley came back. 

_ Gabriel’s heart sank with sorrow for a pain not his own, disappointment that the demon had not quite managed to make good his escape. Of course he hadn’t.  _

_ Of course  _ Crowley came back. 

_ He waited helplessly in the darkness. After a little while, he tried again to make a sound, any sound - just softly. He didn’t want to draw Crowley’s attention... if it was even possible. He knew that if any sound  _ did _ escape his lips, he’d be left in dread wondering whether or not he’d been heard.  _

_ He didn’t want to do anything to make Aziraphale any angrier with him.  _

_ But… this forced silence, this absence of his voice, was driving him mad.  _

_ Gabriel could hear them talking through the ceiling, though their voices were too muffled and distant to make out their words. There was a fair bit of yelling involved, though. Enough to make it clear to Gabriel that Crowley was still not at all happy with Aziraphale. The damage Gabriel had done to their relationship, Aziraphale had not been able to completely undo.  _

_ Which was… very bad.  _

_ Gabriel’s heart raced when he heard a single set of footsteps descending the stairs.  _

_ The agony of the hellfire burns was ever-present, but had faded in its sharpness, muted by long exposure to a deep, low burn that he couldn’t shut out, couldn’t ignore - exhausting in its constancy. Tears stung his eyes, and he trembled with dreadful anticipation as the footsteps drew nearer, and Aziraphale entered the room.  _

_ He wept freely in his despair; no sound would come from it to draw Aziraphale’s wrath.  _

_ Gabriel already had  _ that, _ he knew, laser-focused upon him.  _

_ And he couldn’t take any more.  _

_ ****************************************************************************************** _

Aziraphale allowed himself to vent a bit of his frustration on his bound, helpless captive - pulling off the blindfold to reveal his shell-shocked, harrowed eyes… speaking to the trembling archangel with soft, menacing words… sliding deceptively gentle hands over sore skin, deliberately, insistently aggravating the burns he had left there. 

Just to enjoy the silence. 

He relished Gabriel’s attempts to scream, to cry - the ceaseless sound of his voice, always so arrogantly certain, so impossibly sure of himself - now ripped away from him and leaving him with only silence. 

Silence that was clearly wreaking exquisite havoc on the archangel’s mind. 

He was sobbing, hitched broken breaths coming too quickly, shallow with panic. He shook his head, desperate and pleading, as Aziraphale gently cupped Gabriel’s hip, then slid his hand around to rest casually on his ass. 

“Crowley fell asleep,” Aziraphale informed Gabriel, soft and petulant. He ran a hand through Gabriel’s hair with false affection, musing, “Perhaps you and I could find something to do, yes?” 

Gabriel shuddered, though he didn’t dare pull away from Aziraphale’s gentle fingers. His lips formed a stream of soundless words, of which Aziraphale could only make out the shape of a few. 

_ Please… sorry… don’t…  _

“Well,” Aziraphale sighed, pausing long enough to let the archangel’s fear linger, before relenting, “I suppose you’ve been in a state of punishment more or less all day, haven’t you? You must be exhausted, too. All right, then,” he assured him softly at last, meeting his hazy, distant eyes with a warm smile. “I believe that’ll do for the moment. My Crowley has come home to me… which has put me in a rather tolerant frame of mind. Perhaps you’re due a bit of a break, yes?” 

Gabriel watched him with wary eyes. He nodded slowly, as if not sure whether or not the words were a trap. 

_ “Please… please…”  _

His lips continued to form silent words, tears streaming freely from his eyes. 

Aziraphale looked him over slowly, taking in the fine tremor that was now constant in his tense, strained muscles, the way he struggled to maintain his balance on feet that wobbled and shook dangerously with weariness. He snapped his fingers, and the cuffs detached from the bar. 

Gabriel collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap, his chest heaving with sobs that made no more sound than the hoarse rasp of his rapid, panicked breaths. 

Aziraphale sank to the floor beside him, gently pulling Gabriel up into his arms. Gabriel surrendered easily, leaning into Aziraphale’s embrace, as Aziraphale pushed back his damp hair, brushing his lips across his brow, rocking him slightly. 

“There, now,” he murmured, soft and reassuring. “It’s over for now, isn’t it? You’ve borne your punishment, and you’ve learned an important lesson, haven’t you?” 

Gabriel nodded against Aziraphale’s chest, weeping silently. Aziraphale gently stroked his hair, rhythmic and soothing - and then abruptly closed his hand into a fist. Not pulling, not hurting - just going very still, and holding Gabriel still as well, his own words clear and quiet, unchallenged in the heavy quiet of the room. 

“You are  _ never _ to speak of what goes on between us to Crowley again. Never to attempt to manipulate him into helping you. Choosing your side over mine.” 

Gabriel shook his head, frantic and fast, his breath coming in rapid, shallow little gasps. 

Aziraphale laughed softly, shaking his head. “Crowley and I - we’re on  _ our own _ side. He’ll never choose anyone else - not in the end. Certainly never _ you _ , my dove, surely you know that.” 

Gabriel nodded, and Aziraphale felt the heat of his shuddering breath through the soft fabric of his clothes, his trembling hands trapped between them, twitching uncertainly, as if Gabriel wasn’t quite sure where to put them. Aziraphale gently rested one steadying hand against his arm, the other falling to run slowly, soothingly, up and down his back. 

“All you’ll accomplish by attempting to gain his sympathy… is to  _ anger me _ .” He felt Gabriel shudder in his arms. “Do you  _ wish _ to anger me, my dove?” 

Gabriel shook his head again, his shoulders quaking. 

“I know,” Aziraphale soothed him softly, still rubbing his back, lifting gentle fingers to toy with a lock of his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I know you don’t.” 

He drew back a little, ducking his head to meet Gabriel’s eyes. The archangel’s gaze faltered, eyes falling downcast, as he raised halting, trembling fingers to rest against his throat. He ventured another glance up at Aziraphale, his lips forming a desperate, silent request. 

_ “Please… please…” _

“You’d like me to give you your voice back?” Aziraphale concluded with a little grimace. 

Gabriel closed his eyes, nodding desperately, repeating the word again and again. 

“Well, I don’t know about that, my dear.” Aziraphale pretended to ponder it, a troubled frown creasing his brow. “It seems all you’re capable of doing with it is misusing it. Running telling tales, when I’ve explicitly instructed you to keep silent.” 

_ “I won’t…” _ Gabriel shook his head, wide stricken eyes meeting Aziraphale’s in desperation.  _ “Please, I won’t, please…” _

“Shh, shh,” Aziraphale soothed him, though he hadn’t heard a sound. He shook his head with an overly patient sigh, giving Gabriel a regretful look - and the archangel’s face fell. “You simply can’t help yourself, can you? Even  _ without  _ your voice, you can’t stop talking. So whyever should I return it?” 

Gabriel lowered his face into his hands, crestfallen, sobbing with despair. Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh, stroking the back of Gabriel’s neck, running a gentle hand slowly up and down his arm. 

“All right, all right,” he relented at last, with a tone of generous indulgence. “I’ll give you a chance.” 

Gabriel looked up at him, eyes wide and disbelieving with hope. Aziraphale held his gaze, solemn and warning. 

“ _ Do not _ disappoint me.” 

Gabriel shook his head, an emphatic promise. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers - and the half-drawn breath on Gabriel’s lips turned to a soft, wordless sob. Gabriel nearly collapsed with relief, shoulders shaking as he covered his mouth with his own hand, struggling to stifle the sounds. Aziraphale generously drew him into his arms again, pressing his face against his shoulder, assisting his effort. 

He was following the rules, at any rate. His quiet sounds of mingled suffering and relief were not strong enough to escape the walls of the backroom. 

Not that it mattered, really. 

Crowley wouldn’t be waking up for quite a while. 

“You have seen now, what comes of your defiance, your deception, haven’t you?” Aziraphale said with soft severity, enjoying the feeling of the by-now familiar response to the tone - Gabriel’s shiver against him, even as he leaned into Aziraphale’s arms, grateful and weary, trembling hands hesitantly catching in the sides of Aziraphale’s shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel gasped out. 

His voice was very hoarse and very weak - no doubt from screaming his throat raw during the hours he’d spent alone in this room. Aziraphale rolled his eyes over his shoulder, simultaneously annoyed and amused by his  _ immediate _ , albeit heartfelt, failure. 

“I’m so sorry,” Gabriel sobbed, low and muffled against Aziraphale’s shirt. “I’ll obey, I’ll be good, I won’t do it again…” 

Aziraphale pushed him back a little, gently, and stilled the stream of whispered words with two fingers pressed against Gabriel’s lips. The panic in Gabriel’s eyes as they locked onto Aziraphale’s with instant realization was supremely satisfying to Aziraphale. 

Enough to allow for a shred of mercy. 

He raised his fingers to run slowly, idly through Gabriel’s hair, as the archangel pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, desperately shaking his head, fresh tears welling in his eyes. 

“Still just can’t manage to be quiet, can you?” 

Gabriel’s shoulders fell in hopeless expectation of punishment, tears sliding down his face as he choked back a despairing sob. 

“Hush, now, none of that,” Aziraphale gently chided him. “It’s all right, my dove. Well, it isn’t,” he amended, then offered Gabriel a warm, reassuring smile. “But it will be. Won’t it?” 

Gabriel nodded along with him, his desperation to please Aziraphale heartbreakingly obvious - although Aziraphale knew he couldn’t begin to comprehend what he was agreeing to. 

“Before you leave this room again… we’ll have broken that bad habit, won’t we?” 

Gabriel’s eyes widened with understanding, and he paled visibly, but he continued nodding slowly. 

It wasn’t as if he’d dare to  _ argue _ . 

“You’ve still got much to learn, my dove,” Aziraphale murmured, slowly rubbing the back of his neck, and Gabriel bowed his head, eyes fluttering wearily closed under the soothing touch. “Many lessons you’ve failed to master. But don’t worry. I intend to remedy that problem.” 

He disentangled himself from Gabriel abruptly, rising to his feet - wincing a bit at the ache in his bruised shin. He glanced down uneasily to see if Gabriel had noticed, but the archangel’s wide, frightened eyes were more closely focused on Aziraphale’s hands, following his every move. Watching for a clenched fist, for a blow… for a snap that would steal his voice again... it clearly hadn’t even occurred to Gabriel that  _ he _ might have done  _ Aziraphale _ any damage. 

No matter. Aziraphale would make him pay for it, anyway. 

“Well, then,” Aziraphale declared with a single clap of his hands, suppressing his amusement at Gabriel’s startled blink. “That’s enough of a break for now, I think, isn’t it?” 

Gabriel quailed, shivering, arms wrapped around his bare chest as he huddled miserably inward, terror etched into the taut, weary lines of his face. Aziraphale looked down on him with a bright, warm smile, reaching down to cup his jaw and tilt his face up to meet his eyes. 

“You’re clearly hopelessly behind in your lessons, aren’t you? We’ve a lot of ground to cover. So… let’s begin.” 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy to share this chapter with you all <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Also, I have added several new works to the DIP Art Collection post - here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548221
> 
> Please head on over and check it out, and leave some feedback for the talented artists who've made beautiful pieces for this story!! 
> 
> If you enjoy this chapter, I'd greatly appreciate it if you take a moment to let me know what you think about it ;) *hugs* <3 
> 
> Comments are love <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Don't make me beg. You know it's not allowed. ;)

All was quiet in the bookshop. 

It was early afternoon, and the lights were off, only the sunlight filtering through the blinds to cast a faint glow over the dusty shelves laden with books, and the cash counter that had remained neglected and unused for months now. Aziraphale had closed the shop immediately after the world didn’t end and he and Crowley were not executed, declaring that they’d earned themselves a bit of peace and privacy for a while. 

He had meant to open again after a few weeks, to resume life as it had been  _ before _ all of the Apocalypse nonsense; but then, well, he had become a bit...  _ preoccupied _ with other things. 

All was quiet in the apartment upstairs, as well. 

Not for the first time during Crowley’s lengthy nap, Aziraphale looked in on his demon. As every other time Aziraphale had checked on him, he found Crowley unnaturally, unsettlingly still, lost in the depths of a miraculously induced sleep. Aziraphale took reassurance in noticing that Crowley - ever the restless sleeper - had at least shifted onto his side at some point since Aziraphale had last entered the room, a day or so earlier. 

Aziraphale sat down carefully on the side of the bed and stroked Crowley’s hair, giving him a tender, bittersweet smile as he took Crowley’s still hand in his. 

Aziraphale’s smile faded into troubled unease at the scars still visible across Crowley’s palms and fingers. He’d tried several times to heal them, with no more success than the first time. The blessing on the cuffs shouldn’t have left scars at all - let alone those beyond Aziraphale’s power to heal. 

And yet they remained. 

Aziraphale leaned down and pressed his lips softly to the corner of Crowley’s mouth, closing his eyes and focusing on infusing the smallest stirring of a miracle into the kiss. He snapped his fingers, and a steaming cup of coffee appeared on the nightstand, made just as Crowley liked it - one that would miraculously  _ stay  _ invitingly hot and aromatic until Crowley awakened. 

“I’ll see you soon, my love,” Aziraphale murmured, squeezing Crowley’s hand. 

Aziraphale stood up with a small sigh, fussing a bit with the blankets before leaving the room, leaving the door cracked open behind him. 

_ Shouldn’t be more than an hour or two. _

  
He descended the stairs and made his way through the empty, quiet shop to the backroom. 

It was  _ mostly _ quiet there, as well. Not quite as quiet as it should have been. 

Though, Gabriel was trying very,  _ very _ hard to make it be. 

Aziraphale couldn’t blame him for his desperation, for the edge of panic in his weary violet eyes. 

After all, he knew the consequences, should he fail this particular test.

And they were certainly... most unpleasant. 

******************************************************************************************

_ On his feet rather than his knees, facing Aziraphale directly as he was rarely allowed, Gabriel looked supremely uncomfortable.  _

_ Aziraphale instructed him to step up onto the small, round stool he used around the shop when arranging books on the uppermost shelves, and Gabriel hesitantly obeyed. _

_ Aziraphale smiled at the visual effect: the once confident, imposing archangel - exposed and on display for Aziraphale’s amusement, eyes wide and fearful, trembling arms wrapped around his bare torso, as if he might just shake apart if he didn’t hold himself together. He was barely balanced on the small stool, his broad shoulders turned inward as he tried to make his body as small and as low as he could manage, short of simply falling to his knees at Aziraphale’s feet - a display of submission that, for the moment, Aziraphale would not allow.  _

_ “My, isn’t  _ this  _ a picture.” Aziraphale couldn’t quite suppress the note of soft, vicious satisfaction behind his teasing words. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had you on any sort of pedestal, hasn’t it?”  _

_ Gabriel winced, ducking his head, wary eyes not quite daring to meet Aziraphale’s.  _

_ “Please,” he whispered, confused and frightened. “Sir, I - I don’t…” _

_ “Shh.” Aziraphale offered a soothing reminder, giving his bare hip a sharp little pat that made Gabriel flinch as if it had been a blow. “All you have to do… is exactly as you’re told. Yes?” _

_ Gabriel’s breath came quick and unsteady, eyes wide and wary, following Aziraphale as long as he could, as the principality slowly circled him.  _

_ Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the hellfire cuffs on Gabriel’s wrists snapped together behind his back, sealed and immovable. A second snap brought the single chain connected to the center of the punishment bar down, where it fastened itself to the place where the two cuffs joined.  _

_ “There we are,” Aziraphale murmured his satisfaction as he resumed his slow circle around his bound captive. “Just a simple test, my dove… and one that only requires two things of you… the traits I would most value in your behavior…” He stopped, facing Gabriel, looking up into his fearful face with a rueful smile. “... and which you, sadly, seem to be most lacking. The capacity to be  _ still _ … and  _ quiet _.”  _

_ Gabriel nodded hurriedly, frantically, teeth pressed tight into his bottom lip, already scraped red and raw from previous attempts at silence.  _

_ “Yes, you’ve managed thirty whole seconds,” Aziraphale observed, flat, gently sarcastic. “But you’re going to manage longer, dear. You’re going to prove to me that you can behave to my specifications. Aren’t you?”  _

_ Gabriel nodded again, eager and imploring.  _

_ “Very good.”  _

_ Aziraphale surveyed him a moment longer, appraising - before lifting his hand to snap again. Immediately the chain attached to Gabriel’s wrists began to slowly shorten, winding itself around the bar, and drawing his arms up with it, higher and higher behind his back.  _

_ Gabriel’s breath quickened with alarm as the chain continued to rise, and a soft, pleading sound escaped his lips. Aziraphale glared at him, and waved a hand upward and in his general direction. The chain’s motion accelerated - relentlessly, insistently bending Gabriel’s arms up behind his back until he was forced to bend his body as well, folded over his legs at a near-perfect 90 degree angle.  _

_ And still, the chain kept rising, hyper-rotating Gabriel’s arms and shoulders until it seemed that the joints would be pulled from their sockets. Gabriel bit back a choked, frightened sound - and at last, Aziraphale waved his hand again, this time vaguely downward.  _

_ The chain did not descend to a more comfortable height - but it stopped moving upward.  _

_ Aziraphale took a moment to survey his handiwork, eyes narrowed critically as he paced around Gabriel’s bound form - noting the strained, painful tension in the archangel’s shoulders and arms - the dangerous wobbling of his legs on the small stool - just wide enough to provide adequate support for his feet, easy enough to stand on and keep one’s balance - if the archangel’s body hadn’t been forcibly folded into such a difficult, precarious position.  _

_ And if the stool hadn’t been set on wheels.  _

_ “You’re going to keep silent,” Aziraphale instructed softly, reaching up to take Gabriel’s face in both hands and holding his gaze, solemn and warning. “You’re not to make a single sound, my dove.” He glanced down at the stool with a little grimace, looking back up to meet Gabriel’s eyes. “I wouldn’t suggest moving, either. However uncomfortable you may be now… if that stool should shift from beneath you… I’d imagine that’d feel worse.”  _

_ Gabriel’s eyes widened at the thought, and he swallowed hard, visibly struggling not to voice the pleading protest that was etched into the lines of his face.  _

_ Aziraphale did not acknowledge it.  _

_ Instead, he selected a book and sat down in his chair to read while Gabriel faced his test.  _

_ The archangel made it a little less than twenty minutes before the stool shifted slightly under his feet, and a strangled little cry of alarm escaped his lips. Aziraphale closed the book in his lap, glaring up at him with a sharp sigh of irritation.  _

_ “Honestly, Gabriel, I’m not asking that much of you, am I? Just a bit of restraint. Self-control.” _

_ He rose and crossed the room to Gabriel, book still in hand. Gabriel met his eyes with dread in his own, shaking his head slightly in wordless apology for breaking his silence. He flinched as Aziraphale raised his free hand to cup his face - then went very still, unresistant, as Aziraphale’s thumb stroked slowly across his cheekbone.  _

_ “Still and quiet, my dove,” Aziraphale reminded him softly. “And you’ll be just fine.”  _

_ Gabriel seemed to take no comfort from the reassurance. Aziraphale had to admit, he looked rather pitiful. He’d already been through quite a lot of well-earned punishment in the past few days, and his body was bruised and battered, weakened and weary. His eyes were shadowed with dread, his expression strained with exhaustion.  _

_ By an hour into the test, he looked even worse.  _

_ Aziraphale imagined that the tension in Gabriel’s painfully hyper-extended shoulders… the throbbing heat of the hellfire at his wrists… the sharp ache in his bruised, weary legs… must have been just dreadful. The constant, fine tremor in Gabriel’s body perpetually shifted the stool - slowly, just a little at a time - and the archangel struggled to bring it back into balance beneath him, to steady it and keep it in place.  _

_ If it rolled out from beneath him, he would fall with enough force to dislocate both his shoulders.  _

_ If that happened, the pain would be unbearable. Aziraphale couldn’t possibly blame him for screaming.  _

_ He wouldn’t blame him - but he  _ would  _ punish him.  _

_ For the forbidden sound… and for the damage to the book he’d given up reading and abandoned - carefully arranged on Gabriel’s back. Aziraphale had stood it on end and just barely open, just enough to give it a bit of stability, and make it  _ possible _ for Gabriel to keep it upright.  _

_ “I place great value in certain of my favorite possessions,” Aziraphale informed him with the hushed tone of a confession. “Most especially my books.” He lowered his voice even further, edging in close to Gabriel, one hand stroking slowly through his hair.  _

_ “If you allow it to fall, if it’s in any way… torn, or damaged…” He closed his hand into a tight fist, dragging Gabriel’s head back and meeting his eyes with a cool, expectant smile. “... then you’ll feel the echoes of that failure in your flesh, my dove. Every tear, every break. Is that clear?”  _

_ “Y-yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, closing his eyes, swallowing back a despairing sob.  _

_ Aziraphale had returned to his chair, the book providing him far more pleasurable entertainment in its current place than it had when he was reading it. Gabriel’s eyes brimmed with tears, the shaking of his body more pronounced with every passing minute as he struggled to keep his balance, to keep the stool from rolling out from under him.  _

_ As Aziraphale watched with grim anticipation for the inevitable, the stool slipped an inch to the left, and Gabriel jerked slightly, struggling to bring it back to its original position - in the process, shifting the book on his back and sending it toppling to the floor.  _

_ Immediately Aziraphale pounced on his failure, snatching up the book and shoving it in Gabriel’s face. _

_ “Look at this!” he snarled, pointing out the bent corner of the cover, and several pages that had been folded back against each other. “See what you’ve done?”  _

_ “I’m sorry,” Gabriel gasped out - horrified, desperate eyes lifting from the book to meet Aziraphale’s gaze, smoldering with fury. “Please…”  _

_ Aziraphale grabbed Gabriel by the hair at the back of his neck, leaning in close, his voice low and warning.  _

_ “ _ Shut. Up _.”  _

_ He let Gabriel go with a rough shove, watching for a moment with vindictive satisfaction as the archangel struggled to regain his balance… before viciously kicking the stool out from beneath his feet.  _

_ Gabriel fell hard, his body jerked back up again by the chain, and his shoulders violently yanked from their sockets by the full weight of his body as it came down. A strangled, agonized scream escaped his lips.  _

_ Aziraphale delivered a sharp, ringing slap across his face.  _

_ “ _ No _ ,” he snapped, severe, accusing.  _

_ He snapped his fingers, and the hoarse, broken remnants of the scream instantly vanished into silence, though the archangel’s face remained contorted with agony. His lungs still drew in air, his tortured body still forced it out in a desperate cry of suffering that did not make a sound.  _

_ Aziraphale carefully brushed off his damaged book, tucked it under his arm, and turned away - leaving his suffering captive still hanging from the chains that wrenched his arms up behind him, silently sobbing in agony, as Aziraphale walked out into the shop and closed the backroom door behind him.  _

_ He took his time, carefully mending the book by hand, rather than by miracle, and then put it away to allow the work to set. Then, he chose another book, one he’d been meaning to reread, and went back upstairs for a while. He made a cup of sweet, hot cocoa, before settling in on the sofa close to the bedroom door, where he could keep an eye on his love while he slept.  _

_ A couple of hours passed in blissful quiet, before Aziraphale set aside his book with a regretful sigh, and headed down the stairs to the backroom again.  _

_ He found his captive desperately trying to keep still, struggling to choke back the weak, soundless sobs that shook his tortured body. Aziraphale surveyed him for a moment before snapping his fingers, instantaneously covering his hands with his hellfire gloves. Gabriel shuddered, visibly tensing with dread as Aziraphale moved in close to him and reached out to carefully touch his face, tenderly brushing away his tears.  _

_ His voice was soft with concern. “Do you think you can manage to control yourself? Keep still and quiet?”  _

_ Gabriel answered with a small nod, not trying to speak - trying desperately not to move.  _

_ Aziraphale slid one arm around Gabriel’s waist to hold him up, then snapped his fingers. The chain vanished, and the archangel collapsed into Aziraphale’s supportive embrace. His lips parted, his eyes tightly shut as he struggled to hold back a silent cry of pain at the movement.  _

_ “Shhh,” Aziraphale murmured as he lowered Gabriel slowly to the floor, going down to his knees beside him.  _

_ One arm still wrapped around him, Aziraphale snapped his fingers again, and the archangel’s arms were instantly healed - back in their proper place, and no longer bound tightly behind his back. Gabriel lifted one shaky, halting hand in a tentative test - then let out a harsh, tremulous breath of relief, lowering his face to rest against Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale held him for a few moments, patting his back, before he firmly pushed him back to arm’s length.  _

_ Another small miracle produced a warm, clean cloth, which Aziraphale used to carefully wash Gabriel’s face of the salt of tears and sweat that streaked his skin. Aziraphale sighed at the fruitless effort, as fresh tears flowed down Gabriel’s face, his newly restored shoulders quaking with silent sobs.  _

_ “You’re not going to disappoint me like that again, are you, my dove?” Aziraphale murmured.  _

_ Gabriel shook his head, pleading. Aziraphale nodded slowly with a heavy, pointed sigh, before passing his hand gently across Gabriel’s mouth.  _

_ A hushed and gasping breath became a deep sob. Gabriel blinked, eyes wide with panic, and stifled the next one before it could escape, casting fearful eyes up toward Aziraphale for his reaction.  _

_ “You’re all right,” Aziraphale said softly, gently running his fingers through Gabriel’s hair, gracing the archangel with a reassuring smile.  _

_ He’d tried, hadn’t he? Very hard, under very challenging conditions.  _

_ “We’ll try again…” Aziraphale’s quiet promise was met with dreadful realization, slowly dawning in the archangel’s eyes. “I know you’ll do better next time, won’t you?”  _

_ Gabriel nodded wearily, his stricken, shell-shocked gaze falling to the floor.  _

_ “But, for the moment…”  _

_ Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the hellfire whip appeared, coiled in his hand. Gabriel’s eyes darted up at the sound of the snap, and he stared at the whip for a long moment, then dragged despairing eyes back to Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale met his gaze with an expression of sympathy and regret.  _

_ “I believe you were promised certain… consequences.”  _

_ ******************************************************************************************** _

This test was going considerably better than that first one. 

Each time Aziraphale had bound Gabriel like this, he’d done a little better - managed a little longer without losing his balance, or giving voice to his suffering - though despite the fact that he was clearly _ trying _ , clearly  _ desperate _ to meet Aziraphale’s exacting expectations - it was a test he had yet to pass. 

This time, Gabriel had maintained the rigorously demanding position for hours, struggling to keep his balance on the small stool, his entire body taut and trembling. His bare skin was littered with burns and bruises, his every muscle quivering with exhausted exertion, his dark hair damp and falling into his face. He cast his harrowed gaze toward Aziraphale, eyes weary and desperate. 

He was doing very well, Aziraphale had to admit. 

Of course, he’d made it a fair bit easier on Gabriel when he’d decided to allow him an object to balance which offered a bit more inherent stability - the coiled hellfire whip, lying flat against Gabriel’s back. Even when Gabriel’s body did shift, or the stool rolled a little, the whip remained still and steady, slowly searing a circle into his skin. 

Aziraphale couldn’t tell if it was tears or sweat that fell from Gabriel’s face, dripping down onto the wood floor, the wheels of the stool occasionally squeaking against it. Gabriel’s teeth dug into his lip as he visibly fought to hold back whatever sounds sought to escape his mouth - sobs or screams or desperate, pleading words. 

He was learning well when to keep silent. 

_ Always _ . Unless Aziraphale  _ asked  _ to hear from him. 

That didn’t often happen. 

Aziraphale went to him, smiling at the shudder that passed through Gabriel’s body as he closed the distance between them. Aziraphale cupped Gabriel’s cheek with one gentle, gloved hand, then pushed his hair back, careful not to apply too much pressure - nothing that might shift his position or cause him to lose his balance. 

“You’re doing so well, my dove,” he murmured with soft approval. “I’m quite pleased with you.” 

Gabriel’s eyes closed and he relaxed, just a little, with visible relief, and a very slight, very careful nod. Aziraphale waited a moment longer before carefully lifting the whip from Gabriel’s back. He grimaced at the sight of the damaged flesh beneath it - reddened in places, blackened in others from repeated, prolonged contact with the hellfire. 

With a wave of his hand, Aziraphale returned the whip to the desk. He shifted in a little closer, one steadying hand at Gabriel’s side - the other poking speculatively at the burns - layered from multiple repetitions of the same rigorous test. Gabriel choked back a whimper, his face crumpled with pain, his body lurching dangerously on the stool. 

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale murmured, reaching up to trail the ash-stained tips of his white gloves gently through Gabriel’s hair. “You’re doing so well… my sweet dove. Yes, that’s better…” 

Gabriel drew in deep, shaky breaths as he struggled to regain control. 

“Still…” Aziraphale pretended to ponder his options. “I don’t believe I’m going to heal you...  _ just _ yet. A valuable lesson needs time to sink in, doesn’t it?” 

Gabriel immediately, hurriedly nodded, and Aziraphale smiled grimly. 

The archangel had learned to agree readily with whatever Aziraphale wanted. 

Gabriel fought to stay still, despite the terrified anticipation inspired by Aziraphale’s gentle touch, and the extreme effort of keeping himself steady and balanced in the position in which he’d been bound. He flinched just slightly, drawing in a sharp, shallow little breath, as Aziraphale brushed his fingers lightly across Gabriel’s parted, trembling lips. 

“And no matter how well you do, if I feel you need further instruction, well…” Aziraphale caught Gabriel’s hair with his free hand, tugging his head back to meet his panicked, desperate gaze, his tone hardening with a warning edge. “... then you will continue to suffer for as long as it pleases me. Won’t you?” 

“Y-yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, hoarse and weary. “Yes, sir…” 

Aziraphale held his gaze and nodded once, slowly. “Very good.” 

He let go of Gabriel, allowing his body to sag against the chains. Gabriel wobbled for a moment with a little gasp of alarm, before he managed to steady himself again. 

_ Yes, very good, my dove. You’ve taken these tests very well.  _

_ Now… time for your final exam.  _

Aziraphale abruptly kicked the stool out from under him.

At the same moment, he made the chain from which Gabriel was suspended disappear, allowing his body to simply collapse to the floor with a jarring impact - but not the body-breaking agony he must have certainly expected. 

At least this time, his shoulders were spared. 

And throughout the sudden, frightening and painful sequence of motion… 

…  _ Gabriel remained quiet _ . 

He huddled on the floor on his side for a few moments, gasping for breath, before dragging himself up onto his knees, on arms that shook with weariness. He lifted trembling hands, still locked into the cuffs, but freed from each other, to cover his face and stifle his soft, breathless sobs of relief. Aziraphale reached down a hand to tenderly cup the back of his head - then went still and startled when Gabriel leaned just slightly  _ into _ the touch, instead of tensing or edging away. 

It was probably just  _ sheer exhaustion _ that led him to seek rest in Aziraphale’s touch, rather than shying away from it. Telling himself that didn’t stop the warm twist of unexpected  _ affection _ Aziraphale felt, or the tight, wistful ache in his chest. 

Aziraphale knelt beside Gabriel, folding his legs under himself and drawing the archangel into his arms. Gabriel surrendered willingly, his body racked with all-over tremors, but otherwise still and quiet as Aziraphale stroked his hair, his back, murmuring reassuring words in a low, calming tone. 

“That was so much better than the previous times, my dear. You were quiet. You didn’t once resist. You were very well-behaved, indeed.” He hesitated a moment before adding, slow and thoughtful, “I think perhaps... you’ve earned a reward.” 

Gabriel drew back just a little - a halting, hesitant motion, uncertain eyes darting up to Aziraphale’s face as if to seek permission. Aziraphale just watched him calmly, a questioning tilt to his head. Gabriel’s tear-streaked face was downcast, and he lifted a single, trembling finger to his own lips. 

Aziraphale arched one eyebrow. 

So Gabriel meant to make a  _ request _ \- to ask for a  _ specific  _ reward. 

There were only a few things Aziraphale might have actually granted him. Still, it was useful to know what Gabriel might most want - what he would dare to ask for - what mercy he might still believe himself deserving of. 

Even if Aziraphale was fairly certain already that he would end up refusing him. 

“Yes,” he said softly. “You may speak.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Gabriel choked out, hushed and hesitant, flinching a little as the words left his lips. “I…” He bit his lip for a moment, then slowly, cautiously lifted his wrists up together for Aziraphale’s examination. “I - I won’t resist,” he whispered. “I’ll - I’ll obey, it’s just… they _hurt._ _So much_. I - I can’t…” 

His words broke off in a choked little whimper of alarm as Aziraphale gently grasped one bound wrist and lifted it a little higher to look at it more closely. He frowned at the deep red streaks that extended beyond the edges of the cuff, the flesh beneath its edges seared black and raw.

Aziraphale’s troubled expression was… not ingenuine. 

Taking the hellfire cuffs off was simply not an option - not yet. 

Even if Aziraphale did take them off, he knew he wouldn’t be able to heal the damage they had done. 

He released Gabriel’s wrist, and the archangel allowed it to fall back down against his bruised, blood-streaked knees. Aziraphale reached out to cup his cheek gently and tilt his head up to meet his eyes. Gabriel’s face fell at the answer he read there, his shoulders slumping with disappointment. His lips faltered a moment, before a single word escaped in a desolate whisper. 

“ _ Please _ …”

“Shh...” 

Aziraphale brushed his thumb across Gabriel’s mouth, and he fell obediently silent. 

“I know, my dove,” Aziraphale said softly, then added a quiet promise. “It won’t be much longer now.” 

********************************************************************************************

Crowley opened his eyes. 

He blinked into the dim late afternoon sunlight as he sat up in the bed, automatically reaching toward the nightstand for his sunglasses - and not finding them. Instead his fingers brushed against smooth, warm glass. He frowned, glancing at the space where his glasses should have been. In their place was a cup of hot, fresh coffee which, admittedly, smelled  _ delicious _ . 

_ Where are my blessed  _ sunglasses? 

He frowned, trying to remember where he’d put them. He’d last seen them… 

_ Oh, right.  _

_ They’re at Anathema’s.  _

As the haze of sleep slowly lifted, a creeping sense of dread began to settle in Crowley’s chest, as all at once he remembered…  _ why _ his sunglasses were at Anathema’s. 

_ I was at Anathema’s. _

_ And then…  _ Aziraphale  _ was at Anathema’s.  _

_ And… now…  _

Crowley looked around at the empty bedroom - familiar, but far from comforting. 

_ Back at the bookshop. With Aziraphale.  _

He distinctly remembered  _ not _ wanting to be there. 

Ever again. 

_ When did I go to bed? _ Crowley rubbed wearily at his eyes.  _ How long have I been asleep?  _

It was all a blur. 

He remembered… arguing, with Aziraphale. About Gabriel. Aziraphale, moving in close, putting his hands on him and Crowley… wanted to push him away… 

_ Why  _ didn’t _ I push him away?  _

He looked down at his hands, knowing even before his sleep-addled mind quite caught up that he’d find the answers there. He blinked in surprise at the strange white scars, where reddened burns had been. 

Had he actually slept long enough for the burns to have fully healed during that time? 

_ Or… did Aziraphale heal me?  _

_ Damn it all, Aziraphale, I told you  _ not _ to heal me… _

_ I told you not to… told you to  _ stop _ , told you to  _ get off _ …  _

Crowley’s heart raced with alarm at the vivid images that came flooding back to his mind - Aziraphale grabbing his wrists, searing pain in his hands… Aziraphale pinning him to the couch, pushing him down, holding him there, ignoring Crowley when he told him,  _ begged _ him to  _ stop _ … 

Crowley felt a sick trembling in the pit of his stomach, an acidic heat creeping its way up his throat. 

_ What did he do?  _

He didn’t remember dressing for bed, and yet he was in his pajamas - which, Crowley supposed was  _ slightly _ less unsettling than waking up naked would have been. He shifted his body in the bed a little, experimentally, and didn’t _ feel  _ any sign that anything had…  _ happened. _

_ Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Healed my hands… could have healed other things.  _

_ Could have just… gone slow, and easy, especially if I was…  _

Crowley fought back a wave of nausea, a cold prickling of apprehension at the back of his neck.

_ … if I was asleep…  _

_ How long have I been asleep?  _

The vibration of his cell phone drew Crowley’s attention, and he rose from the bed and grabbed for his jeans, carefully laid out across the back of the chair next to the bed - not strewn carelessly across the floor as he would have usually left them. He glanced around the room as he drew the phone from the pocket of the jeans, noting that there was no sign of Aziraphale - no sign that he’d ever been there at all. 

The other side of the bed was still neatly tucked in, an indication that Aziraphale hadn’t slept there. 

It was…  _ unusual _ , though. 

Crowley was a restless sleeper. Whether or not Aziraphale had been in the bed, it should have been wrecked from Crowley’s endless shifts in position, tossing and turning that Aziraphale often blamed for his own lack of sleep. 

Never mind the fact that the angel rarely slept at all, anyway. 

That was not a particularly comforting thought at the moment.

Crowley’s cell phone battery, as always, was full. 

So was his voicemail, and his notifications page cheerfully informed him that he had 214 unread text messages. He frowned, glancing up at the time and date - and then staring in disbelief. 

_ That… can’t be right…  _

As Crowley stood there, staring at his phone, it vibrated again, calling his attention to the unread messages. He scrolled through them swiftly, looking for anything that might need his immediate attention. 

Every last one was from Anathema. 

_ I’ll read them later,  _ he decided.  _ Gotta find Aziraphale. Stop him before he… he may have already…  _

He shook his head, trying not to think too closely, for the moment, on how Aziraphale might have been  _ spending _ all this time. He clicked on the last message in the list, and shot off a quick response to Anathema’s number. 

_ “Sorry, been asleep, just woke up”  _

Immediately his phone began to ring. Crowley frowned at it, troubled, glancing toward the door. 

There was no way in  _ Anywhere  _ it’d be a  _ quick _ conversation. 

He hit the reject button, and sent another text. 

_ “Call you soon”  _

After a few moments, he received Anathema’s response. 

_ “For real this time? >:(“  _

He texted back,  _ “promise <3”  _

Crowley turned off his phone before she could call again, then snapped his fingers to dress himself. He glared resentfully at the steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand, wondering how many days it had waited there - then passed a hand over its surface, cooling it. 

_ Whole place is a damn tinderbox, and here he’s leaving hot things lying about unattended for… who knows how long, maybe hours... enough fires in this place, angel, don’t wanna… can’t bloody lose…  _

Crowley stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, pressing forefinger and thumb against his eyes and drawing in a shuddering breath. 

_ Already lost,  _ he reminded himself firmly. 

_ Damage control. That’s all this is.  _

He only wondered how much more damage had occurred while he’d been sleeping. 

Crowley was unsurprised to find that the apartment was as empty as the bedroom. He headed swiftly down the stairs - and stopped short when he reached the main floor. 

The door to the backroom was standing open. 

Aziraphale was sitting in the cozy chair in the corner, a well-worn book open in his lap, sipping from a cup of cocoa he held in one hand. 

And…  _ Gabriel was there _ . 

He was kneeling on the thick rug next to Aziraphale’s chair, angled slightly toward the door, wearing nothing but the hellfire cuffs locked around his wrists. His hands rested freely against his folded knees, his head bowed, close enough for Aziraphale to reach out his free hand and stroke his hair - petting the archangel with the sort of idle affection one might reserve for an obedient dog. 

Crowley stood there for a long, stunned moment, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing, before reminding himself that the only way he was going to get any  _ actual answers _ was to go inside. 

Gabriel glanced up at Crowley as he entered, then quickly lowered his head, a visible tremor of apprehension passing through him. 

Aziraphale turned cool eyes on Crowley over a bright smile. “Good morning, darling. Did you rest well?” 

Crowley stared at him, disbelieving, his mind racing to put the pieces together. 

“Aziraphale… did you  _ put me to sleep _ ?” he demanded, aghast. 

Aziraphale’s smile dimmed a bit, but his expression and tone were utterly unapologetic. 

“You were upset and exhausted. That discussion was getting us nowhere.”

“Two weeks!” Crowley exploded. “You made me sleep for  _ two weeks _ !” 

“You were overwrought and unreasonable,” Aziraphale insisted, infuriatingly calm. “Clearly, you needed the rest.” 

Furious, Crowley turned his gaze toward Gabriel - and froze, when he actually took a moment to  _ really look _ at him. The archangel’s body was littered with bruises and burns, in various stages of healing. Gabriel’s wary eyes darted up to Crowley’s face for just a moment, and he flinched under Crowley’s fierce gaze, wrapping his arms around his bare torso, eyes closed and head bowed - clearly braced for whatever fallout from this confrontation might get thrown in his direction. 

Crowley swallowed, drawing in a breath. With an effort, he softened his tone, turning his muted glare back on Aziraphale in quiet accusation. 

“And… while I was having this long, restorative nap… you summoned  _ him _ here…”

“No, I didn’t,” Aziraphale declared, quiet and firm. He smiled, a touch of warm approval in his eyes as he looked at Gabriel. “He never left.” 

Crowley blinked in confusion, his mind going back to the empty room he’d seen that night, when he’d reluctantly come back here with Aziraphale. 

_ He… had him stashed away somewhere else, then? Or… some kind of illusion, so I wouldn’t see...?  _

_ He was just… here the whole time?  _

Crowley’s gaze landed on Gabriel with a puzzled frown, as he tried to figure it out. Gabriel cringed, glancing up at Crowley again with guilty, shame-filled eyes, and then away, lowering his head in a deeper, apologetic bow.

As if  _ he _ was the one who had let  _ Crowley _ down somehow. 

As if _ Crowley _ wasn’t the one with every reason to feel ashamed. 

_ Should have made sure he was gone. Shouldn’t have left ‘til I  _ knew _ he was headed back to Heaven… _

_ Bloody idiot. Fat lot of help I’ve been.  _

Crowley turned his focus back to Aziraphale, squaring his shoulders and leveling the angel with a challenging glare.

“Let him go.” 

Aziraphale’s hand went abruptly still in Gabriel’s hair, and Gabriel drew in a sharp, shallow breath and held it, stricken, fearful eyes locked onto his own folded hands. Aziraphale held Crowley’s gaze for a long moment. At last he sighed, looking away as he set his book aside on the end table, but did not take his poised, still hand from the back of Gabriel’s head. 

Crowley couldn’t tear his eyes from the point of contact, instinctively braced for some sort of utterly unfair retaliation, whatever terrible thing Aziraphale might be inclined to do to his captive. 

Aziraphale merely looked up at Crowley again, calm and appraising - before withdrawing his hand from Gabriel’s hair and instead folding both hands in his lap. 

“That’s not going to happen.”

Crowley let out an indignant little scoffing sound. “Yes, it bloody well is,” he declared. “There’s no need for this, not anymore. He’s not going to cause any trouble. Not going to move against us.” He glanced at Gabriel, a taut, expectant note to his quiet words. “Are you, archangel?” 

Gabriel flinched, eyes wide and frightened as he glanced first at Aziraphale, and then up at Crowley. 

“N-no, sir,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale’s hand moved swiftly toward Gabriel’s head, and Gabriel drew in a sharp breath, cringing in anticipation of pain. Aziraphale didn’t even look at him, just held Crowley’s gaze with a smile of cool amusement as he ran his fingers lightly through Gabriel’s hair again, his words deceptively soft, almost soothing. 

“He already has, though, darling,” he said. “He almost told Michael everything, did you know that?” Without looking at Gabriel, he demanded in a slightly sharper tone, “Didn’t you, dove?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Gabriel didn’t hesitate to answer this time - because it was  _ Aziraphale _ asking, Crowley realized with grim realization. 

_ Knows what Aziraphale wants… what he’s supposed to say… doesn’t have to look to him to see what answer he’s supposed to give me, when Aziraphale just hand-fed it to him…  _

_ Wait… Michael?  _

Crowley’s stomach lurched with alarm, and he cast an uneasy glance Heavenward. 

_ How much did he tell her?  _

_ Ought to be preparing for attack… or running for Alpha Centauri…  _

“I’ve spoken with him about their conversation… at length.” 

There was a slight edge to Aziraphale’s tone that made Crowley feel a little sick - and that sick feeling was only intensified by the way Gabriel shivered, closing his eyes, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat. 

Crowley didn’t want to know what that  _ conversation _ had entailed.

“And fortunately, he didn’t tell her anything that would lead her here,” Aziraphale informed him, his mouth tight and grim. He paused a moment before continuing, “Do you know what would happen if Gabriel told Michael that he’s being…  _ mistreated _ , by me? Do you know what the fierce warrior archangel, general of the hosts of Heaven, would do?” 

Crowley remained silent, warily waiting. 

Where was Aziraphale  _ headed _ with this? He couldn’t very well express  _ fear _ of Michael, not when he was supposed to have powers that vastly superseded hers. Letting Gabriel know that she could possibly harm them, giving him that level of information, would give the whole game away - leave them once again vulnerable to the attacks of Heaven, and eventually Hell. 

_ Unless… he doesn’t intend for Gabriel to ever have the chance to share that information with anyone else.  _

A heavy knot settled in the pit of Crowley’s stomach, and he swallowed slowly, his mouth suddenly very dry. 

_ He’s never letting him go.  _

Aziraphale’s fist closed in Gabriel’s hair, slowly dragging his head back, and Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat, but he moved obediently with the gesture, yielding easily to the pull of Azirpahale’s hand as he went on, quiet and clipped and angry. 

“She would come here, intent on stopping me. Regardless of whether or not she believes she can win. If she truly believed the  _ lie _ that I’m doing  _ anything  _ to Gabriel that he  _ does not deserve _ …” He twisted his fist in Gabriel’s hair, and the archangel bit back a soft, pleading whimper. Aziraphale turned a cold smile on him. “... she’d come riding to your rescue. Wouldn’t she, my dear?” 

Gabriel nodded, shaky and rapid and small, restricted by Aziraphale’s grip. Aziraphale only jerked his head back harder, making clear his dissatisfaction with Gabriel’s response. 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel gasped. 

Aziraphale glared at him for a long, tense moment, and Crowley watched Gabriel  _ wilt  _ under his gaze, shivering, biting his lip, closing his eyes. Aziraphale’s gaze didn’t falter, his words going cold and hard as steel, a subtle note of accusation in them. 

“I for one am not looking forward to having to fight and destroy my own brothers and sisters because of  _ his _ self-pity and selfishness. Because he can’t manage to simply  _ keep his mouth shut. _ ” 

Crowley thought that Gabriel was doing a pretty _ excellent _ job of keeping his mouth shut. He cast his troubled gaze over the archangel’s taut and trembling body once more with dismay, taking in the countless injuries that had been inflicted during the two weeks since Crowley had last healed him. 

“Seems he’s learned his lesson about that,” he observed, carefully calm. “He’s not going to try that again. Not going to say anything to anyone. Are you, Gabe?” 

Gabriel turned his gaze on Crowley, a measure of gratitude mingled with his terror.. “No, sir,” he quickly whispered. “No, I-I won’t, ever…” He looked up at Aziraphale, desperate eyes filled with tears. “ _ Please _ …”

“That’s enough.” Aziraphale’s calm, quiet command stilled Gabriel’s lips. He smiled, tight and cruel, brow lifted as he met Crowley’s gaze. “He certainly won’t say anything to anyone as long as he’s here, safely locked into those cuffs and under my direct supervision.” 

“And… if they come looking for him?” Crowley persisted. “He’s been gone for two weeks, angel. At what point do you think Michael just decides to… launch a search party?” He was quiet a moment, giving Aziraphale a pointed look. “Ends the same way, doesn’t it?” 

“They won’t find him,” Aziraphale stated with firm confidence. “Not as long as he’s wearing those.” 

Crowley glanced unhappily at the cuffs. He knew it to be true: the hellfire within them suppressed Gabriel’s angelic essence as well as his power - rendering any attempts to locate him via magic or miracle useless. 

Aziraphale smirked. 

“And I really do believe this is the last place on Earth they’d come looking for him.” 

Crowley frowned. “Not so sure about…” 

But then, he registered Gabriel’s slight, hurt wince at the words, and the cruel twist of Aziraphale’s mouth - and his words faded away, his heart aching with realization. Aziraphale wasn’t saying that the angels would never suspect that Gabriel was there. He was saying that even if they  _ did _ , they wouldn’t  _ choose _ to come there to find him. 

He was saying that when it came to facing down the mysteriously powered traitors  _ once again _ \- to Heaven, Gabriel simply wasn’t worth the risk. 

And... Gabriel  _ believed _ that. 

Never mind that it was a direct contradiction of everything Aziraphale had  _ just said _ about Michael riding to the rescue and her own destruction. Never mind that there were great, gaping chasms in Aziraphale’s logic that any reasonable person could see through in an instant. 

Gabriel  _ wasn’t _ exactly a reasonable person, not at the moment. 

He was visibly battered and exhausted, his weary, bruised body quaking with terror and pain. It was clear that, if he hadn’t been before, the last two weeks had left him thoroughly  _ convinced _ of Aziraphale’s power. There was no escape from Aziraphale’s control. Aziraphale decided what was going to happen to him. If Aziraphale said the other angels wouldn’t bother to come for him - then they weren’t coming for him. 

Aziraphale poured out bitter, corrosive poison, searing away the last shreds of Gabriel’s hope and dignity - and the archangel obediently swallowed it down. 

And Crowley’s own hands had mixed the toxic brew. 

Crowley felt sick as he watched Aziraphale’s gentle hand idly stroke Gabriel’s hair, his words certain, softly contemptuous.

“No one is coming for him. He stays here. Until I determine that he can be trusted, _ if _ I allow him to go.” 

Crowley’s troubled gaze fell on the cuffs, with an immediate sense of alarm. He hadn’t noticed it before, just how bad it was - but now he’d seen it, he couldn’t look away. 

Gabriel’s wrists were raw, red and black beneath the cuffs, with the searing effects of the hellfire spreading out in raw streaks from the places where the cuffs actually touched him. Thin, dried trails, trickles and smears of blood, stained Gabriel’s arms - likely from being strung up by those cuffs for too long - long enough to drive him to desperation, his frantic struggles causing the cuffs to tear into his damaged skin. 

“He’s been in those too long,” Crowley said, low and grim. “Two weeks… I’m surprised they haven’t burned through to bone by now. Aziraphale, we’ve got to take them off.” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed thoughtfully, nodding. “He  _ has _ been wearing them quite a while.” 

His hand left Gabriel’s hair to take his wrist instead, casually pulling it up to examine it with cool detachment. Gabriel offered no resistance as Aziraphale tugged on his wrist, though he winced with pain, and shivered, staring at the place where Aziraphale touched him, tense and braced for worse. Aziraphale continued to hold onto Gabriel’s wrist as he met Crowley’s eyes. 

“If only there were some alternative means of keeping him under control. I might  _ consider _ taking the cuffs off. If I had a better option. Less damaging, but still… a means of ensuring that I could call him to me at any time. Some…  _ insurance _ . So that he’d  _ know _ there’d be consequences for defiance.” 

Crowley’s stomach dropped.

_ The watch. He wants the watch back.  _

Aziraphale watched Crowley closely, with a coldness that was rarely in his eyes when looking at him. “I need to be certain he’s going to behave himself properly when he’s out of my sight.” His mouth tightened, but his grip on Gabriel didn’t change, and his gaze traveled up and down  _ Crowley’s _ form, as he murmured, “He has so disappointed me of late.” 

Crowley resisted the inexplicable impulse to look away from the quiet accusation in the angel’s eyes. 

Gabriel lifted his free hand, cautious, faltering, and pressed a single finger to his lips. 

Crowley frowned, arching a brow. 

Aziraphale did not seem at all surprised by the gesture, as he turned his disapproving gaze on Gabriel, eyes narrowed, his grip on Gabriel’s wrist tightening in warning. 

“Yes, what is it, Gabriel?” he demanded, cold and impatient. 

Gabriel trembled, his eyes cast down, his voice barely over a whisper. “I - I’ll obey whatever you say. If you take them off. I - I won’t - try anything. I won’t fight. I’ll do exactly what you say…”

His words broke off in a startled yelp of pain as Aziraphale gave his wrist a sharp twist, but he made no attempt to free himself from Aziraphale’s grasp, as the principality yanked him in closer, his words a soft, menacing snarl. 

“You’ll do exactly what we say  _ anyway _ , though, won’t you, my dove?” 

“ _ Yes _ !” Gabriel cried out, pleading and pained. “Yes, sir, I’ll obey, please…  _ please _ …” 

Aziraphale just jerked him closer, leaning forward in his chair to cup the back of Gabriel’s head, his words a low, private warning close to his ear. 

“Be quiet, and still, and  _ do not _ interrupt me again.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel nodded, his breath a shallow, panicked staccato between sobs, tears flowing freely down his face. “Yes, sir…”

Aziraphale looked back up at Crowley, his expression cold and impassive - and expectant of an answer. 

“No,” Crowley said. “The one condition I had.  _ One thing _ I asked of you, in exchange for coming back here…”

“It’s one condition on which I’m afraid I cannot yield, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, regretful but firm. “You pointed it out yourself. As long as he’s here, he needs to be wearing the cuffs.” 

Crowley frowned. “Yeah, that’s…  _ not _ what I said…”

“To prevent the armies of Heaven from coming here,” Aziraphale persisted. “From chasing down their own destruction.” He sighed, as if in frustration at having to explain it,  _ again _ . “Without the cuffs - they’re more likely to find him.”

“Thought you said no one’s looking,” Crowley ground out, glaring at Aziraphale in challenge. 

Gabriel glanced up at him, uncertainty and confusion in his eyes. 

Aziraphale met Crowley’s glare, fury blazing from his eyes. His retaliation was inflicted on Gabriel, as he yanked his hair hard, jerking his head back and immediately securing his attention again. 

“Michael will be looking,” Aziraphale conceded with a small half-nod, the quiet words incongruent with the force of his hand. “She has a warrior’s heart, and a general’s mind. She’ll be thinking of the well-being of the host.” He inclined his head toward Gabriel for a moment. “Bad for morale, if something were to happen to this one,” he admitted with a tone of distaste for a fact he wished were not so, and did not understand why it was. “So she’d try to protect him.” He was quiet a moment, casting his cold gaze on Gabriel. “And I’d kill her,” he concluded softly. 

Gabriel shivered, shaking his head just slightly in Aziraphale’s grasp. 

Aziraphale ignored him, turning his eyes back toward Crowley. 

“And I don’t wish to do that. So I won’t take them off,” he said firmly. “Not unless there’s an adequate alternative.” 

Crowley’s fist clenched at his side in furious frustration at Aziraphale’s ridiculous reasoning, and the unmerited cruelty of his actions. He took a step toward the kneeling archangel. “If you won’t,  _ I will _ …” 

“ _ No _ .” 

Aziraphale’s tone was sharp as he rose swiftly to his feet, moving to stand between Crowley and Gabriel. Crowley raised his eyebrows in a dubious, disbelieving look. 

“Gonna fight me for it, angel?” 

Aziraphale softened, visibly taken aback. 

“You mustn’t touch them, Crowley,” he insisted. “Not again. The blessing was clearly… stronger than I realized. Strong enough to harm you when you took them off before. Those burns left  _ scars _ , Crowley, and… I can’t bear to see you hurt again.” He swallowed slowly, his jaw lifting in stubborn challenge, a gleam of subtle triumph in his eyes. “And it’s stronger now. I’ve reinforced it. If you touch those cuffs, you’ll do yourself permanent damage... and you  _ will not _ succeed in getting them off a second time.” 

Crowely stared at him in stunned disbelief for a moment. “Yeah,” he drawled, slow and wary. “I can see how  _ very concerned _ you are… about the possibility I might get hurt…”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes away for a moment, letting out a little huff of agitation that was almost an anxious laugh. “Just don’t touch them, darling, and you won’t...” He sighed, shaking his head. “Crowley, just  _ don’t touch them _ .” 

Crowley glared at him, feeling hurt and betrayed - but sadly, not in the least surprised. Aziraphale cautiously moved back, no longer blocking Crowley’s path, but with one hand extended, watching warily as if he still suspected that at any moment, he might have to. 

“Convenient,” Crowley snapped in scathing accusation. “Always have a good, righteous reason, don’t you? For my own good. For our protection. What’s your reason for  _ fucking him _ , after you promised me you wouldn’t?” 

Gabriel cringed, and all at once Crowley remembered - he’d promised not to say anything, not to reveal what Gabriel had accidentally revealed to him. He’d believed that Gabriel was safely out of Aziraphale’s reach, far away in Heaven - but clearly, he was still very much at Aziraphale’s mercy. 

And Crowley had let slip… at Anathema’s, and now again… 

_ Shit. Stop helping, Crowley, you’re no bloody good at it…  _

Aziraphale did not seem particularly surprised or upset by Crowley’s question, however. He calmly took another step back toward his chair, bringing him back within reach of Gabriel. 

“I haven’t,” he insisted. 

He dropped one hand to the back of Gabriel’s neck in a touch that was far too casual to actually be meaningless. 

Gabriel glanced up at Aziraphale with anxious eyes before lowering his gaze to his own folded, fidgeting hands. “He hasn’t,” he echoed Aziraphale’s words, faltering, hesitant. “I - I lied. It - didn’t happen, I just - wanted you to help me - help me escape. I’m sorry.” 

Careful. Rehearsed. A prepared answer, which Gabriel had been coached to deliver upon wordless command. 

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, incredulous - and found his expression impassive, unyielding. 

He couldn’t  _ possibly _ believe that Crowley would  _ buy _ this load of bullshit? Crowley might have been a bit impulsive sometimes, a bit slow on the uptake… but he was by no means stupid. 

And… Aziraphale  _ knew _ that. 

He  _ had to know _ that  _ Crowley knew.  _ And yet for some reason, he seemed quietly determined to play out this strange, revolting farce to its end, anyway. To maintain a thin veneer of fidelity, of righteous intent, cast lazily over the depths of ugliness and cruelty in which he’d been indulging. 

Crowley wanted to call him out on it - but he knew he couldn’t. 

If he made it clear that he didn’t believe the story - Gabriel would be the one to pay, for not selling it well enough. 

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “More than anything in this world. And there’s nothing I would ever do to hurt you - everything I do is only for the two of us, darling. Only for our good.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure Aziraphale even knew the meaning of the word anymore. 

“I refuse to let him do any more damage.” Aziraphale’s tone was cold, quietly dangerous, and Gabriel trembled under the weight of his hand, still firm and oppressive at the back of his neck. “He’s not leaving here unless he’s wearing the watch.” 

Crowley stood, frozen in silent, frustrating indecision. 

With every moment that passed, the hellfire cuffs burned deeper into Gabriel’s wrists. The damage was already deep enough that Crowley wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to heal it all away. The archangel was suffering, and Crowley had made his suffering possible - and there was only one way he could think of to make that suffering stop. 

By inflicting  _ another _ form of suffering... another violation. 

Locking Gabriel back into that watch would allow Aziraphale to cause him pain without being anywhere near him - to torment him from a distance.

_ … a means of ensuring that I could call him to me at any time...  _

Crowley frowned at the echoes of Aziraphale’s words in his mind, the things he had said about the “benefits” of the watch. He’d clearly been using the feature Crowley had built into the watch to adjust the timer remotely - using it to call Gabriel to the bookshop when Crowley wasn’t there. 

_ Every week _ ? 

_ Every single book club meeting?  _

And how much more freely would Aziraphale exercise that power over the archangel  _ now _ \- now that Crowley knew he’d been doing it? 

_ It doesn’t  _ hurt  _ him, though. Not... just  _ wearing _ it. Won’t hurt him like the cuffs do… _

_ Just enslave him.  _

_ Just take away any  _ chance _ of freedom… force him to wait in fear, every time he leaves here,  _ from the moment  _ he leaves here… for the next time Aziraphale decides he’d like to torture him a while…  _

It was a terrible choice. 

But… it was a choice between the watch, which  _ could _ be used to hurt Gabriel - and the cuffs, which  _ were hurting _ him,  _ that very moment _ . Burning away at his flesh, eating through his corporation, doing possibly irreparable damage. 

The watch, on the other hand… 

_ I can find a way to undo it. Later. This just… buys some time. And… maybe a chance…  _

“I’ll go and get it,” Crowley said softly. “From where I’ve hidden it. I won’t be long.” 

He thought of his phone, left upstairs on the nightstand. Once he was out of Aziraphale’s sight, he’d snap his fingers and bring it to him. Call Anathema, finally come clean about all of it, see if she had any bright ideas around human magic that Aziraphale might not see coming. 

_ Not to hurt him, just… just to stop him…  _

_ Stop him, before he can do any worse…  _

“You didn’t have to  _ physically go _ to this very special hiding place to put the watch and the ring there in the first place.” 

Crowley froze under Aziraphale’s softly accusing gaze, his reproachful smile. 

Aziraphale shrugged. “That’s all right,” he said, fingers lifting to idly stroke Gabriel’s hair. “I’m sure we’ll find some way to pass the time while we wait for you.” 

Crowley swallowed back the sick feeling in the back of his throat. He sighed with defeat, then closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. 

The watch was in his hand. 

“The ring, too, love,” Aziraphale said with exaggerated patience, shaking his head. “Really, you know better.” 

Crowley’s jaw clenched with anger, and he suppressed the impulse to tell Aziraphale to fuck off. To turn on his heel and walk out the door, walk away from his mental manipulations, his appalling demands, and his alarming attempts at controlling Crowley’s actions. 

To leave Aziraphale behind completely. 

_ He put me to sleep for two fucking weeks. Kept me like that, so he could do as he pleased.  _

_ With Gabriel. With me?  _

Crowley felt sick. 

_ What else is he capable of?  _

But Gabriel was staring up at Crowley with fearful eyes, watching for Crowley’s response with full awareness that his near future rested entirely upon whatever Crowley decided to do next. If Crowley walked out the door right that moment, he had no doubt that Aziraphale would certainly take it out on Gabriel. 

_ He’ll beat him. Worse.  _

_ Aziraphale can’t heal his wrists, himself. And he won’t take those cuffs off, either. Not if he can’t control him some other way.  _

There was only one other way. 

And, if Aziraphale had it, he might allow Gabriel to return to Heaven. Crowley might have the time and the chance to figure out a better, more permanent solution. 

Giving Aziraphale back the ring was the lesser evil. 

Crowley snapped his fingers and produced the ring as well, hesitating a moment before holding it out to Aziraphale. Aziraphale gave him a warm smile of clear relief, as he took it and slid it onto his finger. 

“Thank you, darling,” he said, sounding insufferably pleased. He examined it admiringly, his gaze not leaving it as he added casually, “Now if you would please put the watch on Gabriel.” 

Crowley blinked. “ _ Me, _ put it on?” 

“You’re the one who wants the cuffs off so badly, aren’t you?” Aziraphale sighed. “If you want me to remove them, then put the watch on first.” 

Crowley hesitated, frustrated with whatever sort of power play Aziraphale was trying to make, troubled by the very idea of doing what he was demanding, as he stared down at the watch in his hand. 

He didn’t want this to happen at all - even less wanted to be the one to do it. 

_ You already did it. In for a penny, Crowley…  _

He lifted his troubled gaze from the watch to the kneeling archangel - and froze. 

Gabriel was facing Crowley, his head bowed low - and his arm extended toward him, uplifted as an obedient offering. He lifted pleading eyes to meet Crowley’s gaze, with a very slight, slow nod. 

_ It’s what he wants, _ Crowley told himself.  _ Not for always, but… for now. If only so the cuffs’ll come off. If only so he can go back to Heaven.  _

It was the only mercy within Crowley’s power to offer. 

Crowley took a deep breath and took a step forward. 

Aziraphale abruptly grabbed Gabriel’s hair and yanked it hard, jerking him up higher onto his knees. Gabriel choked back a frightened yelp of pain, a stuttering, panicked breath sucked in past trembling lips, as Aziraphale leaned down, speaking softly in a low, threatening tone. 

“If you  _ move _ … if you resist in _ any _ way… if you are  _ anything _ but  _ perfectly still _ , and cause my Crowley to burn himself on those cuffs again? I will leave them on until they’ve burned your limbs to ash. Am I quite clear, Gabriel?” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, breathless with terror - eyes tightly shut, utterly pliant in Aziraphale’s grasp. “Yes, sir, I - I won’t m-move… I won’t…” 

“Shut up,” Aziraphale snapped. 

Gabriel nodded quickly, biting his lip. Aziraphale waited a moment longer to ensure the archangel obeyed, before releasing Gabriel with a rough little shove. At last, Aziraphale backed off a little, beckoning Crowley forward. 

Crowley had already started toward Gabriel - but now he found himself hesitant to close the distance. He eyed Aziraphale warily, trying to ignore his approving, encouraging little nod, his obvious pleasure in getting what he wanted. 

From  _ both  _ of them. 

Crowley cast a glowering look in his direction, before focusing his attention on the kneeling, trembling archangel at his feet. 

_ Not right. Shouldn’t be kneeling for me, shouldn’t have to be here at all…  _

Crowley could have put the watch on where he stood. 

It somehow felt right… or at any rate,  _ less wrong _ ... to kneel instead, facing Gabriel. He carefully, gently took Gabriel’s arm and pulled it down, meeting his eyes with a sad, solemn gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

Gabriel shook his head in silent refusal of Crowley’s offered apology. 

He  _ wanted _ the watch back. As sick as it was, he seemed…  _ grateful.  _ And as much as he hated it, Crowley understood. 

Of the meager options before them, this was the least horrible. 

There  _ was _ … a third option, though. 

Crowley had never been much of a fighter, but he was quick, and agile - far more so than Aziraphale. He could put the watch on, wait until the cuffs were off - and then grab Aziraphale’s arm, take him by surprise, get the ring off his hand. 

Tell Gabriel  _ everything.  _

Quickly explain how they’d swapped places. That Aziraphale’s power was a fraud. Without the watch, without the cuffs - Gabriel would be far more powerful than either of them, and  _ free _ \- free to take his freedom, and his  _ vengeance _ , as he chose.

On  _ both _ of them. 

Unaware of Crowley’s part in all of this, Gabriel had rejected his apology. 

If he knew about the third option, Crowley was fairly certain he’d still reject it. Fairly certain that Gabriel would destroy them both in justified rage at all that he’d suffered. 

If Crowley was lucky, the archangel would thank him for the truth by simply obliterating him from the face of the Earth in an instant. 

Aziraphale was unlikely to be so lucky. 

It’d be just, and fair, and right - and Crowley couldn’t bear to imagine it. 

He swallowed hard… and kept his mouth shut. 

_ There has to be a fourth option… _

He just had to buy them some time. Find a way to ensure Gabriel’s safety - a way to stop Aziraphale. 

Without getting them both killed. 

“I am,” he insisted, the words thick with sorrow and regret. “I’m so sorry.” 

Gabriel just winced, holding perfectly still, and waiting in obedient silence. 

Crowley slid the watch onto Gabriel’s wrist, closing the clasp with a clear and final  _ click _ . 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the lovely feedback on the last chapter, I really hope you enjoy this one... 
> 
> I... wrestled with it a little bit ;) 
> 
> Thanks so much to the lovely and talented Latromi and Dacelin for their help with getting this chapter into shape <3 *hugs* 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!!! <3

A tremendous sense of  _ relief _ settled over Gabriel when the watch closed around his wrist. 

He’d waited there in tense, helpless silence, while Aziraphale and Crowley argued over him...  _ about  _ him. Braced for the inevitable explosion, as the angel made clear his intentions with cold, stubborn certainty, and the demon argued fiercely for  _ Gabriel’s freedom _ . 

Gabriel had felt the tension rising in the atmosphere between them, had sensed Aziraphale’s rising  _ fury _ \- a certain tautness in his voice; a fine tremor in his hands, even when they were gentle. Gabriel had readied himself for the suffering of retaliation, should Aziraphale’s frustration with Crowley overcome him, and he lose that last tenuous scrap of self-restraint.

Or perhaps it would simply be the continued suffering of the cuffs, should Crowley be unable to convince Aziraphale to take them off. 

Aziraphale’s frustration had subsided, now. 

He was getting what he wanted, after all.

_ Maybe he’ll do what he said he’d do… maybe he’ll give Crowley what  _ he _ wants, too.  _

_ Maybe he’ll take the cuffs off.  _

At least the watch didn’t  _ hurt _ , not like the cuffs. Not like the past…  _ two weeks _ , Crowley had said, but it felt  _ so much longer _ . 

Relentless suffering… one agony after another… countless failures, each met with severe, merciless punishment, all blurring together in memory etched into his skin, melded into a mind-numbing amalgamation of panic and _ pain. _

But by this point, all the bruises and burns, every lingering lash of the whip, even the searing scrape inside him every time he shifted just wrong… all of it was drowned out by the  _ constant consuming  _ of Gabriel’s wrists. The ever-present pain awakened a quiet alarm in the back of his mind that had slowly risen, building in urgency and volume until it was a frantic, panicked _ scream _ that they _ could not  _ take much more... that before long, there’d be nothing left of them. 

By this point, Gabriel scarcely dared to  _ look _ at the damaged skin around the edges of the cuffs, sick at what he imagined he’d see there.

The watch didn’t  _ hurt _ \- not unless Gabriel fucked up, and gave Aziraphale a reason to deliberately set it to punish him. It was a means for Aziraphale to monitor Gabriel when he  _ wasn’t there _ . It was how Aziraphale told him to  _ come back _ to the bookshop. If Aziraphale wanted him to have it back so badly, then that meant…

_ Maybe he’ll let me go, after all? Let me… return to Heaven? _

A deep, longing ache settled in Gabriel’s chest at the thought - the sweet soreness of a hope he didn’t dare nurture to life.  __

_ He won’t. You’re not going anywhere. You’re his, now. He’ll  _ never _ let you go.  _

But...  _ Crowley _ was there. 

And in spite of Gabriel’s confusion, in spite of the mind-numbing terror overwhelming him, pulling him down to  _ drown _ in it - one thing was startlingly clear. 

Crowley was trying to help him. Standing in opposition to his own partner... to  _ help Gabriel _ .

_ You’ve been so wrong. About Crowley. About so much.  _

_ Aziraphale was right about you… _

Crowley had argued on Gabriel’s behalf - trying  _ hard _ to convince Aziraphale to let Gabriel go. After what Gabriel had confessed to him, Crowley had every reason to be  _ furious _ with Gabriel, to  _ want _ to see him suffer - but he didn’t. He voiced his disapproval of the way Aziraphale was treating Gabriel. He asked - no,  _ demanded _ that Aziraphale take the cuffs off. He was doing everything within his power to try to make this easier on Gabriel - to try to extend whatever small mercy was within his power to give. 

_ He shouldn’t even be here. _ Gabriel’s heart ached with mingled guilt and gratitude.  _ He left. He was gone. Why’d he come back? Aziraphale’s more powerful than he is. Aziraphale made him sleep… for  _ weeks _ … against his will.  _

_ Aziraphale is dangerous. Even to Crowley.  _

Gabriel was dreadfully certain that, for Crowley’s own safety, the demon should have been  _ gone _ \- and so desperately, shamefully relieved that he wasn’t. 

Crowley’s presence made him feel just a little safer - a little less alone.

A heavy sigh escaped Crowley’s lips, a dark foreboding expression in his large golden eyes as he stared at the watch for a moment before he released Gabriel’s hand and rose to his feet. All at once, Gabriel’s stomach lurched with the panicked realization that he  _ did not want _ Crowley to break contact, to move away from him. 

He reached out for Crowley’s hand to express his gratitude -  _ to get him to stay close, just a few moments longer _ \- and Crowley reached out his own hand toward Gabriel in acceptance of the gesture. All at once realization raced through Gabriel’s mind -  _ a powerful angelic blessing, warning words, a terrifying threat _ \- and he swiftly drew his hand back against his chest. 

_ Careful, if he touches the cuffs, they’ll burn him - worse, now, than before… and… and Aziraphale will... _

Crowley seemed to remember Aziraphale’s warning at the same moment, drawing in a soft hiss through his teeth as he took a couple of steps back, withdrawing his hand as well - but not before Gabriel caught sight of the white scars that remained from the last time Crowley had touched the cuffs. 

And that was  _ before _ Aziraphale had strengthened the blessing he’d placed on them. 

A single accidental brush of the blessed metal against Crowley’s skin could have resulted in gruesome, lasting damage - and he’d reached out toward Gabriel  _ without even looking _ . 

Gabriel’s relief at the near miss lasted barely a moment. 

Aziraphale seized Gabriel’s wrist and jerked him further away from Crowley, around to face him instead. The hellfire in the cuff dragged against Gabriel’s raw, damaged flesh, setting it freshly alight, and he couldn’t quite choke back a hoarse cry of startled pain. Aziraphale gripped his hair with his free hand, and Gabriel bit into his lower lip, forcing himself to silence as Aziraphale yanked him in close. His words were a low, menacing snarl, punctuated by a sharp, ringing slap across Gabriel’s face. 

“ _ You useless little fool _ .” 

***********************************************************************************************

_ “Crowley, my dear, sweet, misguided  _ fool _ , what have you done?”  _

_ Aziraphale was seething, furiously muttering the words under his breath as he stalked into the backroom. He raked a hand through his messy curls, shaking his head, turning and surveying the room with wild eyes in search of some answer Gabriel was almost certain he would not find there.  _

_ Gabriel was strung up by his wrists from the punishment bar, the chains drawn up short to keep him torturously balanced on his toes. His body was weary, aching from the ceaseless strain of the position in which Aziraphale had left him - it had to be hours earlier, he guessed, though his mind grew more hazy, and his perception of time less reliable, the longer he spent in this constant, exhausted torment. _

_ Aziraphale’s entrance brought him sharply back to the present moment, his every nerve on high alert, heart racing with alarm as he braced himself to bear the venting of the principality’s rage.  _

_ Aziraphale just stood there, fist clenched and shaking at his side for a long, terrifying moment - then closed the distance to his desk in two strides and sent the implements assembled there clattering off onto the floor with a single swift sweep of his arm.  _

“Where is it?” _ he roared in frustration.  _

_ Gabriel remained silent, his head humbly bowed low. He was almost certain Aziraphale wasn’t actually asking  _ him _. Even if he was, Gabriel had no idea of the correct answer - or even the correct question.  _

_ “He was planning to leave,” Aziraphale said, speaking to himself, so softly that Gabriel almost didn’t make out the words. “Didn’t want me to know, to find him... and I’d have found him at the flat. Where would he have gone? That’s where he sent it. Not to Anathema’s, not now, not after… somewhere else.  _ Where _?”  _

_ Gabriel’s weary mind struggled to keep up with Aziraphale’s frenzied ranting, to somehow make sense of his barely coherent words. His thoughts stuttered to a stop - right along with the frantic thudding of his heart - when Aziraphale’s fierce, furious gaze turned, abruptly laser-focused on him.  _

_ There was no way to escape, no way to protect himself as Aziraphale swiftly closed in on him, one strong hand grasping Gabriel’s throat and rocking him nearly off his feet as he leaned in close.  _

_ “Did he say anything to you?” he demanded. “Anything about where he may have been going? Some… secret place he might have?”  _

_ Gabriel struggled to shake his head in Aziraphale’s powerful, stifling grip, his heart clenched tight in his chest.  _

_ “N-no, sir, I - I don’t know,” he choked out.  _

_ Aziraphale let him go with a disgusted shove that made his feet slide out from under him, and Gabriel struggled to find his footing, fighting to suppress the scream that bubbled up in his throat as the full weight of his body fell against the hellfire cuffs, and they bit sharply into his ravaged wrists.  _

_ “No, of course he didn’t,” Aziraphale concluded, cold and derisive, as he paced away from Gabriel, then back toward him, furious footsteps carrying him nowhere. “Why would he have told  _ you _ anything he was planning? Why would he tell you anything at all?” He met Gabriel’s eyes with a grim, cruel smile that sent a shiver down the archangel’s spine. “He wants nothing more than he wants _ you gone _.”  _

_ It sounded like a threat.  _

_ Gabriel froze, eyes down, braced for another attack.  _

_ But Aziraphale turned and paced away from him, his focus already mercifully focused somewhere else - back toward the desk, his voice low and murderous.  _

_ “He won’t get the chance to do it again.”  _

_ Aziraphale reached down toward the item nearest to him - the hellfire whip - then hesitated. He frowned, rubbing absently at one hand with the other, momentarily lost in a place of indecision. Then he turned and instead took up the gloves and put them on.  _

_ Gabriel’s stomach plummeted.  _

_ He shook his head slowly, swallowing back the sick knot in the back of his throat. A hoarse, desperate whisper escaped his lips before he could stop it.  _

_ “ _ Please _ …” _

_ If Aziraphale heard the errant word, he ignored it.  _

_ He was focused on his task of gathering all of his tools into his arms. He carried them out of the room, and Gabriel could hear the busy sounds of whatever he was doing with them from beyond the backroom door, soft thumps and clattering noises.  _

_ When Aziraphale returned to the backroom, he was no longer wearing the gloves.  _

Strange… why’d he put them on at all, if he wasn’t going to hurt me? 

_ There was some…  _ something _ , worrying at the corners of Gabriel’s mind. Some clue, some bit of logic his mind kept  _ almost _ closing in on, only for his thoughts to glance off of it without quite making the connection. Pain and exhaustion shredded his focus until he couldn’t think clearly - and then, panic consumed all capacity for deduction when Aziraphale’s swift, purposeful steps closed in on him again.  _

Maybe I just don’t deserve the gloves. Maybe… he  _ is _ going to hurt me, just… without their protection… 

He took them off because he wants to use hellfire, to burn me with his bare hands, please don’t, oh no, sir, please don’t do this… 

_ Aziraphale snapped his fingers - and the cuffs released from the bar, sending Gabriel’s battered, weary body crashing to the floor. He gasped for breath, struggling to regain his bearings, and then to slowly get to his knees.  _

_ A swift, sharp gesture of Aziraphale’s hand drew the cuffs together in front of Gabriel’s face, his hands uplifted as if in supplication. Gabriel cringed, suppressing a pleading whimper as Aziraphale closed the distance between them.  _

_ “Quiet,” Aziraphale said, his tone devoid of anger, soft with distraction, as he took a small vial of clear liquid from inside his coat and splashed a bit of it onto the cuffs. He put the vial away again, and then closed his hands around the cuffs, shut his eyes, and began to intone an Enochian blessing.  _

_ Gabriel wasn’t quite sure what effect a celestial blessing might have on an object infused with hellfire; he hadn’t been present for the first blessing Aziraphale had placed on the cuffs. But innate recognition of the power behind the ancient words, falling with such eloquence from the principality’s lips, told Gabriel that this blessing was far more powerful.  _

_ He braced himself for pain as the metal began to glow, bright rays of light slipping between Aziraphale’s fingers as he prayed - but there was no pain, only a soft, swelling warmth emanating from the cuffs, and then swiftly fading away into nothing as Aziraphale finished speaking and released him.  _

_ Gabriel blinked down at the cuffs - to all appearances unchanged - then up at Aziraphale as he snapped his fingers again. All at once the cuffs were released, and Gabriel’s control over his own hands returned to him.  _

_ Such as it was.  _

_ “Get up and come along,” Aziraphale instructed, sharp and impatient. “There’s much to be done.”  _

_ He turned and walked out into the shop, without waiting to see if Gabriel would obey.  _

_ There was little question of that.  _

_ Gabriel stumbled to his feet and swiftly followed, stopping short in the backroom doorway and blinking into the brighter light of the shop. He had never really spent much time there, but Gabriel was fairly certain that the large table in the center of the room - now laden with Aziraphale’s various hellfire implements - had not been there before. There were a few other items assembled along with them - jars of strange liquids and powders, small twigs and leaves that appeared to be herbs of some sort, and a few books that looked to be ancient and well-worn.  _

_ An unpleasant quiver of foreboding settled in Gabriel’s stomach.  _

_ He scarcely had time to consider the strange collection before Aziraphale firmly grasped his arm and led him past it, toward the bookshelves on the other side of the shop. He snapped his fingers, and Gabriel flinched - but when he dared to look up, he found that Aziraphale had merely cleared every book from the bookshelf nearest to them. He ventured an uncertain glance up at Aziraphale, who gave him a cool, condescending smile.  _

_ “I wouldn’t trust the welfare of my books to the chance that you might actually get something  _ right  _ for a change.”  _

_ He snapped his fingers a second time, and produced a clean cloth in one hand, and a canister of wood polish in the other.  _

_ “I’ve a terrible lot of work to attend to,” he informed Gabriel as he put the cloth into his hand, and set the canister on the shelf. “There’s no reason why you should wait, idle, while I do it. You should be learning to be of service.” He ran a finger along the edge of the shelf, lifting it to inspect the gray dust that had collected there with a critical frown. “You will clean every inch of this bookshelf until it shines and then come and tell me when you’ve finished.”  _

_ Gabriel stared dubiously at the unfamiliar items, swallowing slowly. “Yes, sir.”  _

_ “There, I’ve given you something useful to do.” Aziraphale’s tone was pointed, leading. “Isn’t that far better than simply waiting, chained and suffering?”  _

_ Gabriel wasn’t so sure.  _

_ It was only better if he could accomplish the task to Aziraphale’s satisfaction - and he’d never put his hand to this sort of human, menial labor before. He’d seen humans do it - sort of. In the background while he was delivering a message, or shopping, or checking up on Aziraphale - never really paying any attention to precisely what it was they were doing.  _

_ Such things had always seemed… beneath his notice. Meaningless.  _

You were so far above them… so far above everyone, weren’t you? 

And now, you don’t know anything. Can’t do anything. You’re gonna get it wrong, and he’s going to be  _ furious _ , you worthless fucking  _ failure _ …

_ Waiting strung up in the backroom for Aziraphale’s return would almost certainly have been better.  _

_ At least Gabriel was unlikely to fuck that up.  _

_ He nodded numbly, staring down at the cloth in his hand.  _

_ “Yes, sir.”  _

_ His breath caught in his throat as Aziraphale touched his face, firmly directing Gabriel’s gaze up toward him. He didn’t dare look away from the subtle challenge in the principality’s eyes.  _

_ “I’ve given you the means to be of service,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You should be grateful.”  _

_ Gabriel held his gaze, and tried to keep the anxious quaver from his voice as he gave the answer he knew Aziraphale expected, even as his heart sank with dread of his imminent failure.  _

_ “Thank you, sir.”  _

_ ************************************************************************************************** _

“He was trying to _ thank _ me, angel!” Crowley’s urgent, agitated words broke through the ringing in Gabriel’s ears, his anguish and disgust clear as he added under his breath, “For putting that damn thing back on him, of all things…” 

“Was he? I’m not quite sure,” Aziraphale sneered, harsh fingers digging into Gabriel’s arm and shaking him sharply. “Was that thank you? Or  _ sorry _ ? Perhaps he was trying to apologize for being a careless little idiot and nearly  _ burning _ you.” 

“I-I’m sorry,” Gabriel stammered, glancing over his shoulder toward Crowley. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” 

A second resounding slap cut off his words as Aziraphale snapped, “I don’t want to hear  _ sorry _ , Gabriel, I want to hear your confession.” He yanked him up high on his knees, eyes blazing with accusation as his voice took on a familiar, leading tone. “I am a  _ careless little idiot _ .” 

“I-I’m a careless little idiot,” Gabriel repeated in a hoarse near-whisper, a hot flush creeping up into his face, vision blurring with tears. 

Aziraphale’s fingers tightened cruelly on Gabriel’s arm, barely an inch from the cuff. His fist twisted in Gabriel’s hair, knuckles pressing hard against his scalp as he dragged him in yet closer, near enough to bite off his sharp words in the archangel’s ear. 

“I make  _ foolish, selfish _ choices which endanger those around me.” 

“I make… foolish, selfish choices…” Gabriel’s voice broke as he echoed the words, his heart sinking with shame at their brutal truth. “... and… I... endanger those around me.” 

The Apocalypse he’d been so insistent upon bringing about, when it clearly had not been even close to what She wanted - how many humans, how many angels would have died if he’d had his way? The planned and failed execution of Aziraphale in Heaven afterwards - it was only by Aziraphale’s mercy that the archangels present had been spared.

Then, Gabriel had very nearly drawn  _ Michael _ into all of this. Very nearly condemned  _ her _ to a horrific death in fiery agony… just for caring about him. Just for trying to help. 

And  _ Crowley _ … this strange, confusing demon with more compassion than most  _ angels _ Gabriel knew… pacing with agitation behind Gabriel now, a frustrated little growl escaping his throat, as he continued seeking some means to intervene, to keep Aziraphale from hurting Gabriel too much… 

Was  _ he _ in danger, too? Because of Gabriel? 

The careless near-miss with the cuffs was the least of it. Crowley was arguing with Aziraphale, defending Gabriel, aligning himself with the archangel - and Aziraphale was clearly, increasingly  _ furious _ about it. For the moment, Gabriel bore the weight of his wrath - but how long would it be before Aziraphale lashed out and struck  _ Crowley  _ down, too? 

“ _ Stop it _ , angel!” Crowley demanded, indignant and outraged. “If he did  _ anything, _ it was an  _ accident _ !” 

Crowley did not seem particularly afraid of Aziraphale. 

_ But... he should be. _

“And anyway,” Crowley persisted, “it wouldn’t be a problem at all if you’d take the blasted cuffs off like you said!”

Aziraphale froze, his bright, cruel gaze locked onto Gabriel over an unpleasant twist of his mouth that only vaguely resembled a smile. He shook his head a little, his tone cool and careful. 

“That’s not…  _ quite _ what I said.” 

Gabriel’s heart sank. 

_ Please… no, please let me go…  _

“ _ Angel _ …” Crowley’s tone was low and warning. 

“What I said,  _ specifically _ ,” Aziraphale continued, his sharp gaze lifting to meet Crowley’s eyes over Gabriel’s shoulder, “was that I would not even  _ consider _ removing the cuffs  _ until  _ he was wearing the watch.” 

“Aziraphale.  _ No _ .” Crowley’s tone was sharp, rising with disbelieving anger. “You can’t just…”

“What I _ can’t just  _ do is let him leave here, when I’m not even certain I can trust him not to run straight back to Michael and…”

“ _ No _ …” Gabriel’s heart clenched with fear for his sister, and the desperate protest escaped his lips before he knew he was going to speak. “Please, I wouldn’t. I won’t say  _ anything, ever _ !” 

Aziraphale glared down at him, contemptuous. 

“Well, wouldn’t  _ that  _ be lovely.” 

The deceptively soft words were followed by another fierce slap, a hot explosion of pain blooming across Gabriel’s cheek before Aziraphale snatched a handful of his hair and jerked him in close. 

“Angel,  _ stop it _ !” 

Crowley’s protest seemed to reach Gabriel’s ears from a great distance, as if from underwater. Everything returned to sharp clarity in a swift rush, Gabriel’s breath quickening with alarm as Aziraphale leaned in, his words low and all the more threatening for their forced, measured patience. 

“What are you supposed to do if you wish to speak, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel’s heart raced with impending panic as he realized his mistake, closing his eyes and answering in a choked, despairing whisper. 

“ _ Ask permission _ …”

****************************************************************************************

_ “It’s your mouth that’s the problem…”  _

_ Gabriel was kneeling, naked, as Aziraphale circled him slowly, the whip held lightly in one gloved hand. He seemed to linger over the portion of his repeated circuit that took him beyond Gabriel’s line of sight... occasionally slapping the lashes of the whip against the opposite glove to make a sharp, startling sound that always made Gabriel flinch, no matter how he tried to brace for it.  _

_ No matter that Aziraphale had yet to bring the whip down across Gabriel’s back… this time  _

_ “I’ve said it an endless number of times at this point, haven’t I, Gabriel?” Aziraphale sighed. “And you just don’t listen.” _

_ “I’m sorry,” Gabriel whispered.  _

_ The lash fell in an arc of fierce fire across Gabriel’s shoulders, leaving half-healed hellfire burns torn open in its wake. He choked back a cry of pain as Aziraphale’s hand tangled in his hair from behind, slowly, insistently tugging his head back and speaking, low and warning, into his ear.  _

_ “I said…  _ listen _.”  _

_ Gabriel nodded, desperately silent.  _

_ “From now on,” Aziraphale continued, soft and threatening, “my sweet little dove is going to be  _ quiet. _ You  _ will not speak  _ without permission. Is that clear?”  _

_ Gabriel hesitated.  _

Not supposed to speak… 

_ He nodded as best he could against Aziraphale’s painful grip.  _

_ Aziraphale let out a heavy, put-upon sigh, and gave Gabriel’s hair a sharp, warning jerk. “Answer me properly, dove.”  _

_ Gabriel’s stomach lurched. “Y-yes, sir,” he replied quickly, flinching slightly as the words left his lips.  _

_ “Good,” Aziraphale murmured, his hand in Gabriel’s hair easing into a gentle caress. “You see, I’m a reasonable being. This new rule is intended to  _ help _ you, dear. To prevent your repeatedly bringing down punishment upon yourself by speaking out of turn.” He was quiet for a moment, releasing Gabriel entirely and pacing around to face him again. “There are, of course...  _ exceptions _.”  _

_ Aziraphale quirked a single brow upward, a mocking smile touching his lips as he explained, “Your ceaseless begging, your pleas for mercy are  _ not _ among them. I decide what you deserve, and if I’ve decided that you deserve punishment, no amount of your pathetic whinging is going to change that.”  _

_ He crouched down to eye level with Gabriel, one hand reaching out to tenderly cup his jaw, his smile going warm and tender as he brushed his thumb across a fading bruise he’d left there a day or two before, and offered a soft, terrifying promise.  _

_ “I will  _ always _ give you  _ exactly _ what you deserve, my dove.”  _

_ Gabriel swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his pulse racing. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.  _

_ Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, and Gabriel’s stomach lurched with the looming certainty that he’d just made a mistake, just broken the rules - until Aziraphale nodded once, and rose slowly to his feet again, pacing in front of Gabriel as he continued.  _

_ “I’ve no need of your endless apologies, either,” he declared. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t continually commit the same offenses over and over again, would you?”  _

_ Gabriel’s eyes darted up to his, anxious and searching, unsure whether or not he was supposed to respond.  _

_ But Aziraphale was already talking again.  _

_ “You may respond with ‘yes, sir,’ or ‘no, sir’ when addressed by me or Crowley. You will continue to repeat your lessons when it is required of you to do so. You may offer gratitude to me or to Crowley as it is appropriate. Goodness knows it’d be rather tedious to have to constantly  _ grant permission _ for simple good manners.”  _

_ Aziraphale sighed, rolling his eyes. He stopped, facing Gabriel, giving him an appraising, speculative look.  _

_ “What might be another instance in which it would be acceptable for you to speak without permission?”  _

_ As Aziraphale began to slowly move around behind him again, Gabriel’s thoughts raced, trying to come up with a reasonable example, lips parted for a response his mind hadn’t quite formed yet - and then he stopped.  _

_ Was it a test?  _

Not supposed to speak without permission, so… maybe I’m not  _ supposed  _ to answer? __

_ A second blow fell as Aziraphale rounded to face him again, this one catching him across his bare chest and arms. Gabriel tried, but didn’t quite manage to suppress a startled yelp that broke off sharply when Aziraphale grabbed his hair again, arching his neck backward sharply with one hand, and holding the hellfire whip frighteningly near to his face with the other.  _

_ Aziraphale smiled with cruel amusement as he deliberately allowed the tails of the whip to drop, just enough to trail them slowly across the bare skin of Gabriel’s shoulder and neck. Gabriel’s shaking hands curled into helpless fists as he fought the impulse to try to pull away from the searing torment of the deceptively light touch, biting his lip until he tasted blood to keep from crying out. _

_ “When I ask you a question,” Aziraphale instructed with quiet intensity, his hand sliding down from Gabriel’s hair to rest heavy at the back of his neck, holding him still. “... you will answer. With your words. Do you understand?”  _

_ Shaking, struggling not to scream, Gabriel nodded frantically.  _

_ Aziraphale arched an eyebrow, letting out a soft little scoffing sound. “Do you?”  _

_ He stood up straight, letting go of Gabriel’s neck, and lifted the whip away. Gabriel felt a moment’s blessed relief, before he realized that Aziraphale now held the whip poised to strike.  _

_ His heart thudded against his ribs, rapid and panicked, as his pain-addled mind raced to catch up, to figure out his mistake.  _

_ “Yes, sir,” he gasped out. “Yes, sir, I’ll - I’ll answer. With my words. When you a-ask me a question.”  _

_ Aziraphale did not move for a long, breathless moment - and then at last relented, fingers running slow and soothing through Gabriel’s hair, the whip finally lowered to his side.  _

_ “Very good,” he said softly. His fingertips trailed, a teasing sting, along the reddened lines the whip had left on Gabriel’s throat and shoulder. “Aside from those circumstances we’ve just discussed… anytime you wish to speak… you must first have permission.”  _

_ Gabriel frowned with confusion. His lips parted to voice the question that filled his mind. He faltered, then ventured to whisper, “H-how…?” _

_ Aziraphale brought the whip down in a third blow - this time full across Gabriel’s face.  _

_ Fiery streaks of agony stole his breath. He gasped, one shaking hand rising toward his face, but not quite daring to touch the seared, broken flesh. He could feel a cool trickle of blood sliding down his cheek, the salt of his tears mingling with it, adding their sting to the searing burn sliced into his skin. His breath finally returned to him in swift, shuddering gasps, as the shock of the blow began to pass.  _

_ He flinched violently when Aziraphale grasped his hand and drew it firmly down away from his face - but Aziraphale didn’t touch the broken, vulnerable flesh it had covered. Instead, he folded all of Gabriel’s fingers down but one, and then pressed it to Gabriel’s trembling lips, holding it there for a moment.  _

_ “ _ This _ is how you ask,” he explained, quiet and patient. “As illiterate as you seem to be in the communications of humanity, you may not be aware of this. But this is a universally accepted human signal for silence. You will form it, just like this, when you wish to speak - to demonstrate that you know you have  _ no right  _ to open your mouth. But you’re asking to, anyway… because you feel you have something that needs saying.”  _

_ His left hand continued to hold Gabriel’s finger to his lips, as he set down the whip, ducking his head a little to catch Gabriel’s gaze. His smile was cold and menacing, his words very soft, almost patient.  _

_ “And once I’ve heard what you have to say… I’ll let you know whether or not it was worth the grating sound of your voice. Do you understand?”  _

_ “Yes, sir,” Gabriel choked out, wincing at the pain of the movement in his sliced-open cheek.  _

_ He nodded, accepting the lesson, as the rules at last became clear in his mind. When Aziraphale released his hand and backed off a bit, Gabriel lowered it to rest against his knee - then carefully, haltingly lifted it to his lips again, looking up at Aziraphale, wary and questioning.  _

_ Aziraphale’s smile was encouraging. “Yes?”  _

_ Gabriel hesitated. He needed to understand. The rules needed to be clear.  _

_ “If - if I’m - bound, and - and I  _ can’t _ , then - how…?”  _

_ “Well, if I’ve bound you in such a manner that you cannot use your hands to gesture, then I suppose that means I don’t wish for you to speak, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale snapped, abruptly impatient. “That should be obvious enough to anyone.”  _

_ Gabriel nodded quickly, bowing his head. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.  _

_ Despite his lowered gaze, Gabriel could  _ feel  _ the intensity of Aziraphale’s glare focused on him for a long moment… until at last Aziraphale softened, reaching down to trace the lash mark across Gabriel’s face - healing away the bloody slash, while leaving the hellfire burn its wake. Two fingers caught Gabriel’s chin and lifted his head to meet Aziraphale’s sympathetic eyes.  _

_ “New habits take time to form, my dove… but you will learn. I’ll help you.”  _

_ ************************************************************************************************* _

He’d forgotten. 

Gabriel had forgotten to ask permission. 

His heart raced with terror. He lifted a trembling finger to his lips, turning beseeching eyes up toward Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale glared down at him, cold and impassive. “No,” he snapped. “You’ve already spoken out of turn, haven’t you? We’ll have no more words from you just now.” 

Gabriel felt every last trace of hope drain out of him at the stony anger in Aziraphale’s voice. 

_ Now you’ve done it. Fucked it up and pissed him off, shown him you can’t be obedient, he can’t trust you.  _

_ He’s going to keep you here forever. Enjoy the cuffs.  _

_ And… having hands. For however much longer  _ they _ last.  _

He could barely feel his fingers anymore, which he supposed was a mercy at this point, given the agonized state of the adjacent parts he  _ could _ feel. 

Gabriel kept quiet, tears rolling down his face as he looked up at Aziraphale, waiting subdued and silent for further instruction. Aziraphale’s gaze passed back and forth between Gabriel, and Crowley, now standing still, just behind Gabriel. Gabriel could not see the demon’s expression, but he could see the slight falter in Aziraphale’s - could see the hesitation, as the principality wrestled with his desire to punish Gabriel, and his desire to appease Crowley. 

At last Aziraphale sighed, rolling his eyes Heavenward and throwing up his hands in frustration. 

“Oh, the both of you, so dramatic, so maudlin! Oh, come here, then…” 

He caught Gabriel’s arm none too gently, pulling him up higher on his knees. 

For a moment, Gabriel couldn’t breathe as Aziraphale’s free hand moved swiftly toward his wrist. And then, Aziraphale touched one of the cuffs - and both fell away to the floor. 

Gabriel reeled a moment as his power came rushing back to him, gasping in breath that came out again in deep, wrenching sobs of relief. As Aziraphale released him, he lowered his head to rest against Aziraphale’s shoe, trembling hands hovering around the principality’s ankle, not quite daring to touch. 

“Thank you,” he wept. “Thank you, sir,  _ thank you _ …” 

“Yeah, thanks, angel, that’s great.” Crowley’s tone was taut and anxious, and as he spoke, Gabriel heard his swift, agitated footsteps move in close again. “Now if you’ll just let me…”

“ _ Not yet _ .” 

Aziraphale cut him off, his words deceptively mild. Gabriel lifted his head, returning to his usual kneeling position, eyes humbly lowered, to see Aziraphale holding up a halting hand toward Crowley. When Crowley stayed where he was, Aziraphale slowly lowered his hand to rest, gently possessive, on Gabriel’s head, thumb stroking slow and soothing through the hair at the back of his neck. 

“We haven’t finished talking,” Aziraphale said, a teasing note to the words. “Well.  _ I _ haven’t,” he amended. 

“No, this has gone on long enough,” Crowley objected, with increasing agitation. “Let me heal him, angel, come on…” 

Gabriel remained still and quiet at Aziraphale’s feet. 

He felt a grateful rush of warmth toward Crowley, for trying so hard. For risking Aziraphale’s wrath in order to help him. 

But… this was only going to go whatever way  _ Aziraphale wanted  _ it to go. 

There was no point to fighting. Fighting only made him angrier, and the inevitable consequences more vicious and harder to bear in the end. 

Gabriel closed his eyes as he listened to their arguing over his head, yet again, and desperately wished that Crowley would just surrender. Just stop trying so hard. 

_ Please stop helping. It doesn’t. You can’t. Please, just… _

His thoughts ground to a halt as Aziraphale’s hand circled his arm, grasping it firmly and drawing it up between them - fingers a bare inch from the hellfire ring seared into Gabriel’s wrist. Fingers that were gentle for the moment, but could turn cruel in an instant. Gabriel’s chest seized up; he couldn’t draw a breath, couldn’t move or tear his eyes away from the place where Aziraphale held him. 

Aziraphale’s hand left Gabriel’s hair to tilt his face up, smiling, a single brow raised in a deceptively mild question. 

“Are you paying attention, my dove?” 

**********************************************************************************************

_ Gabriel was… drifting.  _

_ It was a strange sensation, one he didn’t quite have the words to describe. He didn’t exactly have  _ any _ words, at the moment, which was… strange, in itself. His thoughts - ordinarily an ever-present stream of sharp, insistent words pressing their way toward the surface - had faded into a low, muted hum in the back of his mind, a warm, fuzzy sort of haze around the edges of his consciousness.  _

_ He was on his knees beside Aziraphale’s chair, and Aziraphale was reading aloud… but Aziraphale’s words had faded, too. A low murmur, soothing in their steady, consistent cadence. Gabriel closed his eyes… and then decided that he’d like to keep them closed a while. It felt… nice, to fade into the shadows, to allow his body to relax until everything had faded, until there was nothing but the warm, soft dark… _

_ “ _ Gabriel _.”  _

_ Gabriel opened his eyes, looking up at Aziraphale, blinking into the light that seemed brighter than when he’d closed them, and trying to remember what Aziraphale had just said.  _

_ It shouldn’t have been difficult. It’d only been a moment. Hadn’t it?  _

_ “Yes, sir?” he whispered, hushed and attentive.  _

_ Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow. “Repeat.” _

_ Gabriel’s stomach dropped.  _

_ Oh. Oh, they’d reached  _ that _ part of the lesson, then.  _

_ And… somehow he’d missed it.  _

_ He had  _ no idea  _ what Aziraphale expected him to say. _

_ “I - I’m…” _

_ Aziraphale’s mouth tightened with rising anger, eyes narrowed and cold on Gabriel as he searched his mind for the right words - panic closing in and driving any remnant of memory he might have had from his mind. He tried to think of the things that Aziraphale most often commanded him to repeat.  _

_ “I’m… selfish. I’m…”  _

_ “ _ Wrong _.”  _

_ Aziraphale’s palm came down across Gabriel’s face, a hot, startling sting that drove the lingering haze from his mind, replacing it with pulsing, desperate panic. Aziraphale’s cold laugh sent a shiver down Gabriel’s spine.  _

_ “Well…  _ right _ ,” he amended, cruel and derisive. “You  _ are  _ selfish. That’s true enough, I suppose. But you’re also  _ ignoring me _ , aren’t you?” Aziraphale snarled, grabbing Gabriel’s hair and jerking his head back.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” Gabriel pleaded, his mind racing, trying to figure out how he’d  _ completely missed  _ the lesson. “I didn’t mean to, I - I don’t know what happened. I just… closed my eyes, and… something’s wrong with me, I…”  _

_ “Oh, yes, there are a great many things wrong with you, Gabriel,” Aziraphale snapped, irritated and impatient. “What the devil are you on about?”  _

_ Gabriel didn’t know.  _

_ He only knew that he didn’t feel…  _ right _. Which, he supposed, was certainly to be expected given the circumstances. The hellfire cuffs at his wrists kept his archangelic essence suppressed, weakening him. He had no idea at this point how many days had passed in nothing but repeated punishment and instruction, working and failing at whatever tests, whatever tasks Aziraphale gave him to do, and he just felt so  _ exhausted _ …  _

_ His eyes widened with abrupt realization.  _

_ He… wasn’t human, but… with the cuffs on, near enough, and…  _

_ He looked up at Aziraphale, venturing a hesitant guess.  _

_ “Did I… did I fall asleep?”  _

_ It was something that had literally never happened to Gabriel before. He knew what it was to be tired - or, he’d  _ thought _ he knew. Stressed and exhausted after countless hours spent dealing with the various problems of Heaven… battle-weary while fighting against the demonic rebels, many millennia ago.  _

_ But… he’d never been this exhausted before - and he’d definitely never _ slept _ before.  _

_ The brief flash of recognition across Aziraphale’s face told Gabriel that perhaps he’d guessed right, that sleep was indeed what had happened to him.  _

_ Then, Aziraphale’s face hardened.  _

_ “Lazy,” he declared. “Lazy, ungrateful creature, showing such utter disrespect while I’m trying to teach you. The supreme nerve.” Aziraphale glared down at him for a moment before sitting back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, hands folded primly across his middle.  _

_ “Go to the desk and get my gloves.”  _

_ Gabriel shook his head, pleading. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “ _ Please _ …”  _

_ He cringed as Aziraphale rose swiftly to his feet, his lips twisted in irritated displeasure. He grabbed Gabriel’s arm and hauled him up, giving him a rough shove toward the desk.  _

_ Gabriel tried to obey, but he could barely stay on his feet. His legs were battered to the point that they’d scarcely support the weight of his body anymore - burned black and bruised blue from repeated application of the whip and the cane. He stumbled, falling back onto his knees just within reach of the desk, gripping the edge of it and trying to pull himself back up on arms that shook with terrified anticipation.  _

_ Aziraphale leveled a sharp kick to the backs of his knees, at the same time seizing a handful of his hair and forcing him back down into a low kneeling position.  _

_ “No, you stay right there,” he commanded coldly. “And do as you were told.”  _

_ Gabriel reached for the drawer, sliding it open with shaking hands. “Please,” he gasped out, panic stealing his breath. “Please don’t… please don’t, sir…”  _

No, be quiet, don’t talk, you’ll just piss him off even more… 

_ The gloves had barely left the drawer when Aziraphale snatched them out of Gabriel’s hands and slid them on.  _

_ He then used the cuffs to bend Gabriel’s body over the smooth surface, fastening them to the back of the desk, exposing his back, his ass, and his legs to the fire of the lash.  _

_ “Please,” Gabriel sobbed in rising panic, turning to look over his shoulder toward Aziraphale. “No,  _ please _ don’t…” _

Stop talking, you’re not supposed to… just stop, just… 

_ Aziraphale drove his fist into Gabriel’s face, slamming his head into the desk with dizzying force, and Gabriel felt the shadowed darkness swelling up to overwhelm him - not slow and soft and creeping this time, but swift and sudden. And then, as quickly as it had come, it receded, retreating from the sharp, clear command in Aziraphale’s voice as he grabbed a fistful of Gabriel’s hair and shoved his face down hard, then held it there.  _

_ “Shut up,” he snarled, low and close to Gabriel’s face.  _

_ Gabriel nodded hurriedly against the desk, heart racing, eyes tightly shut, not daring to make another sound.  _

_ “What’s the matter, my dove?” Aziraphale crooned, the words hushed and dripping with false sympathy as he leaned down, looming over Gabriel’s bowed and bound, helpless form. Gabriel shivered, his breath caught in his throat with dread as he felt the hard toe of Aziraphale’s shoe, trailing a teasing path up the length of his calf, toward his knee. “You think you’ve had enough?”  _

_ “Please, sir,” Gabriel sobbed, desperately hoping the question was sufficient to allow him his plaintive words. “I can’t… I can’t, please…”  _

_ “Well, then,” Aziraphale replied, soft and taunting as he reached between Gabriel’s body and the desk to open the drawer, just enough to withdraw the hellfire whip. “Perhaps you might have thought of that  _ before _ you attempted to attack me. Yes?”  _

_ Gabriel did not remember any such attempt.  _

_ He did not remember a time when he might have even  _ dared _.  _

_ But… Aziraphale said it had happened. Said Gabriel had struck out at him in the midst of his punishment, before Crowley had come home, so… he must have. Right? If Aziraphale  _ said _ it had happened…  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he choked out, despairing, pleading. “I’m so sorry, I won’t… I won’t  _ ever _ , please…”  _

_ “Shhh,” Aziraphale soothed him, “there now, sweet dove, this isn’t about that, is it? What are you being punished for  _ now _?”  _

_ Gabriel tried to focus, tried to think through the stifling, suffocating panic clawing its way up his throat. “I… fell asleep,” he whispered. “I - w-wasn’t listening…”  _

_ “That’s right,” Aziraphale confirmed softly, his rough fist in Gabriel’s hair softening, fingers stroking gently instead in a parody of affection, as he mused, “You found my lesson... tiresome. Boring, perhaps.”  _

_ Gabriel shook his head in desperate denial, biting his lip to keep frantic words from spilling out.  _

_ There wasn’t a question. He wasn’t allowed to speak.  _

_ Before long, he was certain he’d be screaming.  _

_ “No matter,” Aziraphale sighed, standing up straight and taking a few steps back. “We’ll try a different sort of lesson this time…”  _

_ Gabriel shivered at the sound as the leather of the whip slid against the palm of Aziraphale’s glove.  _

_ “... and let’s see if I can’t manage to hold your attention.”  _

_ *********************************************************************************************** _

Aziraphale had _ all _ of Gabriel’s attention, now. 

Gabriel stared up into his eyes, agonizingly aware of how near to his wrist Aziraphale’s fingers were, but not daring to look away, scarcely daring to  _ breathe _ lest he miss the next command that would leave Aziraphale’s lips. 

“Angel,” Crowley said, his words low and cautious. “Stop this. Let him go.” He took a step closer, moving into Gabriel’s peripheral vision. “ _ Aziraphale _ . Just…” 

Aziraphale’s thumb slid forward to dig into the deep hellfire burn, and Gabriel’s entire body spasmed with agony. He doubled over in pain, a soft, breathless keen escaping his lips - though he fought for all he was worth against the instinct to pull his arm away, and left it pliant and still in Aziraphale’s grasp. 

“Do give us a moment, darling.” 

Aziraphale’s tone was soft, but with an edge of warning that made Gabriel’s heart race - and made Crowley freeze where he was, not daring to take another step. That seemed to be enough for Aziraphale, who slid his thumb back to unblemished flesh, stroking slowly, soothingly, his attention entirely focused on Gabriel as he spoke.

“Would you like to return to Heaven soon, Gabriel?” 

The gentle question made tears spring to Gabriel’s eyes. 

He couldn’t speak past the ache in his throat. He nodded, swallowing back a sob. 

Aziraphale’s beatific smile faded slightly, and Gabriel’s stomach lurched. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. “Yes,  _ please _ , sir…”

Aziraphale’s tone hardened just slightly, his grip tightening. “Then you are going to listen very carefully, and you are going to do exactly as I tell you. Aren’t you?” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel answered immediately, without hesitation. 

Aziraphale’s words were clear and measured, leaving no room for debate or misunderstanding. “You are  _ never _ going to speak of our arrangement, of the things that go on here, to Michael. Or to any angel in Heaven. Or to anyone, anywhere. If you do…” 

He jerked hard on Gabriel’s wrist, and Gabriel closed his eyes, biting back a cry of pain. The gentle brush of Aziraphale’s fingertips against his cheek was a wordless command to attention, and Gabriel blinked away his tears, fighting back panic as he lifted his eyes obediently to Aziraphale’s face again. 

“I’ll destroy them.” Aziraphale’s mild tone and serene smile belied the cruelty of his words. “Your indiscretion will be their death sentence. If Michael were to come here looking for you, and I should be forced to destroy her… whose fault would that be?”

“My fault,” Gabriel whispered immediately, shaking his head, anguished. “I won’t, I won’t…” 

Aziraphale gave his wrist the slightest twist, and Gabriel went quiet and still, trembling with the sharp, searing pain that shot from his wrist all down the length of his arm. 

“I know you won’t, my dove.” Aziraphale was quiet a moment. “You’ll no longer come here at regular weekly intervals…” 

Gabriel couldn’t help glancing up at Crowley. 

Did Crowley still think that was all it had been - just a single weekly meeting, when he was there? 

Judging by the withering glare the demon was giving Aziraphale, Gabriel figured… probably not. 

Crowley had figured it out by now. 

Aziraphale jerked on Gabriel’s arm again, and he realized with a jolt of alarm that he’d been looking at Crowley for too long. He turned his wide, fearful eyes back up toward Aziraphale again. 

“You’ll come when you’re called. Period,” Aziraphale declared quietly. “You’ll stay as long as I wish you to stay. If I let you leave this evening, and activate the watch’s timer  _ tomorrow _ … you’ll return.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Gabriel agreed immediately, without hesitation, though his heart sank with the realization of what that meant. Cold, quiet panic settled deep in his chest, the walls of a cage closing in around him. Aziraphale could call for him at any time. He’d no longer be trying to hide secret meetings from Crowley. He’d take as much of Gabriel’s time - as much of  _ Gabriel  _ \- as he wanted, whenever he wanted. 

“I’ve had more than enough of your disobedience.” The hard note in Aziraphale’s voice made Gabriel quake with dread, though Aziraphale’s grip did not tighten, and he did not so much as raise his voice. “Your constant attempts at getting around my instructions. From this point onward, you will  _ obey _ . Without question. You will do  _ exactly  _ what I or Crowley tells you.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel saw Crowley shake his head and turn away for a moment, one hand outstretched toward Aziraphale, as if vainly trying to distance himself from the entire proceedings. Aziraphale turned his sly smile toward Crowley as he continued. 

“However. If I tell you to do one thing… and Crowley tells you to do another…” 

He looked back to Gabriel with a soft, expectant smile. 

“Which of us will you obey?” 

Gabriel cast a sideways glance up at Crowley’s stricken, anguished face, and had to look away. He felt inexplicably guilty and ashamed, though he knew there was no other answer that he could possibly give. His gaze focused on his own wrist, held in the loose vise of Aziraphale’s circling hand. 

“You, sir,” he whispered. “I’ll obey you a-above all others.” 

“Very good,” Aziraphale murmured, approving and affectionate, his free hand cupping the back of Gabriel’s head. He drew Gabriel in closer to him, leaning in to speak, hushed and clear. “I don’t  _ have _ to extend this mercy to you, Gabriel. Don’t have to allow you to go anywhere at all. No one is coming for you. They probably haven’t even noticed that you’ve gone. I could keep you right here, as long as I like…” 

Gabriel nodded, desolate tears spilling down his face. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. 

_ Please don’t. Please let me go. Please, I’ll do anything…  _

Aziraphale’s hand lifted from the back of Gabriel’s head to tenderly push his hair back from his face. His other hand turned Gabriel’s wrist so that his hand was palm up, rubbing his thumb gently across it. Gabriel’s heart rate quickened with alarm, as he suddenly wondered if Aziraphale was checking for any trace of Gabriel’s power, welling up to the surface as it had done in the past. 

There were no purple sparks, no celestial glow emanating, near to the surface of Gabriel’s corporation. The cuffs were gone - but Gabriel’s power still felt very small and very far away. 

There was no part of him that would have dared attempt to resist. 

Aziraphale finally patted Gabriel’s hand gently and released him, stepping back and gesturing for Crowley to move into the space he’d vacated. Immediately Gabriel felt a tremendous rush of relief, his entire body quaking with it, his breath coming in rapid, shuddering gasps. 

Crowley hesitated a moment, eyeing Aziraphale warily before turning his back to him and kneeling down to face Gabriel, his expression troubled and soft with concern. Gabriel’s own gaze faltered under the weight of his guilt, and he lowered it to the floor again, focused on Crowley’s black-clad knees. 

Gabriel wasn’t quite sure why Crowley had knelt down, so close to him, at all. He knew the demon could heal him with a simple snap of his fingers. He’d done it before. 

He didn’t this time, though. 

Instead, he reached out to take Gabriel’s hands, very gently and carefully. He closed his eyes, his brow creasing with concentration - and slowly, Gabriel began to feel a soft, tingling heat flowing from the place where Crowley was touching him, traveling through his hands to his wrists. The unbearable pain began to ease, and Gabriel stared down at the deep burns, watching in wonder as the red and black streaks slowly retreated toward their source, and then faded away completely. 

Crowley ran his thumb lightly across Gabriel’s clear, unblemished wrist in a faint echo of Aziraphale’s touch. 

“Better?” he asked, low and rough. 

Aziraphale’s rules ever-present in his mind after the two weeks he’d spent having them mercilessly drilled into him, Gabriel swallowed hard, forcing himself to answer with words. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, nodding. “Thank you…” The words choked off in his throat, as he nearly collapsed with grateful relief. “ _ Thank you _ …” 

Crowley frowned, studying him for a moment, then closed his eyes again, squeezing Gabriel’s hands. 

Gabriel felt Crowley’s power once more, a warm tingle flowing through his hands, further into him this time, until it reached the lash marks across his face and neck, knitting broken flesh back together until the cuts and burns had vanished away completely.

Gabriel startled slightly at the light touch of Crowley’s hand to his chin, but immediately complied, lifting his head as Crowley directed to meet his eyes, obedient and expectant. But there seemed to be no command behind the touch. Crowley frowned slightly as he critically inspected Gabriel’s face, golden eyes focused on the spot where the lash had left its mark. 

The creases in Crowley’s brow eased, and he nodded slowly. He seemed satisfied with his work. 

Next, Crowley’s focused power reached out to touch Gabriel’s battered legs. Gabriel nearly wept with relief, as the deep ache of layered bruises and burns began to fade away. He closed his eyes and let himself be swallowed up in the warmth and soothing comfort of Crowley’s power swirling around and through him and slowly, steadily, soaking up every last trace of the pain. 

He wondered again why Crowley had chosen to heal him in this manner, instead of instantaneously - taking his time and healing one sort of injury at a time, making sure that it was well and truly accomplished, and then moving on to the next. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. It was not his to decide. 

He was simply overwhelmingly grateful that Crowley was healing him at all. 

Once the last of the damage to Gabriel’s legs was repaired, Crowley stopped for a moment, turning to cast a furious, accusing glare over his shoulder at Aziraphale. 

“You kept him in the cuffs all that time,” he pointed out, disgusted and angry. “Wasn’t as if he was going anywhere.” 

Gabriel wasn’t sure what Crowley was talking about, but the rising tension between him and Aziraphale made his stomach quake. He glanced uneasily up at Aziraphale to try to gauge his reaction. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, innocent and offended. 

“He  _ kicked  _ me.” 

Crowley’s eyes narrowed, his tone caustic, scathing. “Oh, and I’m sure it hurt you terribly when he kicked you, didn’t it, angel?” 

There was a strangely pointed, meaningful look on his face that Gabriel didn’t quite understand. 

“Of course it didn’t,” Aziraphale retorted, a stubborn set to his jaw. “That’s beside the point. The point is that such behavior will  _ not _ be tolerated.” 

Crowley turned his gaze back toward Gabriel, disapproval clear on his face. Gabriel felt uneasy, caught between the two of them, and uncertain of where he stood with either. He’d imagined that he could feel Crowley’s compassion, Crowley’s concern for him, mingled in with his healing power as it had worked its way through his body. 

Now, though… Gabriel wasn’t so sure. 

_ Crowley’s still here. He’s… staying with Aziraphale.  _

_ Maybe… maybe he’s  _ angry _ that I kicked him… _

“I - I didn’t mean to,” Gabriel whispered. 

“Shh,” Crowley murmured, his eyes darting pointedly over his shoulder toward Aziraphale before meeting Gabriel’s gaze again. He gently rubbed Gabriel’s palm with his thumb and shook his head a little, before closing his eyes to focus on his healing work again. 

This time, Gabriel felt Crowley’s power reaching out, slow and searching, within him, until it settled into the deep, circular hellfire burns on Gabriel’s back - the marks left in the wake of Aziraphale’s brutal tests. 

Gabriel glanced anxiously up at Aziraphale, who seemed very focused on what Crowley was doing, and not to have even noticed that Gabriel had spoken out of turn again. A troubled frown creased Aziraphale’s brow, an unspoken question as he watched Crowley work. Gabriel realized all at once that Aziraphale was wondering, too, why Crowley had chosen to heal him in exactly this manner. 

But… Gabriel thought that he was beginning to understand. 

Crowley’s demonic power felt strange and foreign to him in some ways, but ultimately, angels and demons were made of the same stuff. And within the power Crowley was expending, Gabriel could sense certain things - impressions, emotions. There was a certain heaviness within Crowley, a certain sense of…  _ responsibility _ . 

And, there were…  _ questions _ . 

An instantaneous healing would not have given Crowley the answers he sought. He didn’t want to simply snap his fingers and make it all go away. 

Crowley wanted to  _ know _ . 

He was trying to piece together what had happened during the two weeks he’d been forced to sleep. Gabriel felt Crowley’s power reaching out, slow and searching, within him - taking his time, and as he went along, taking note of each individual injury, where it was and what had caused it. 

He wanted to know what Gabriel had been through. He wanted to  _ understand _ . 

And Gabriel had been _ so alone _ . 

He felt fresh tears welling up in his eyes, a knot in the back of his throat, as gratitude swelled up within him, and he found himself very hesitantly… very gently… squeezing Crowley’s hands back. 

As the last of the hellfire burns on Gabriel’s back faded away, and Crowley focused his attention on the next injuries - the bruises scattered across Gabriel’s body where Aziraphale had kicked him and punched him… the deeper burns where Aziraphale’s own hands had left trails of hellfire across Gabriel’s skin - Gabriel’s stomach began to sink with a heavy sense of impending shame. 

Because he realized all at once that Crowley was nearly finished with his mission of healing and discovery. 

And… there was very little left for him to find. 

Gabriel felt Crowley’s power going deeper inside him than it had before, reaching out and searching for injuries beyond the surface level. An unnatural warmth swirling in the center of his being, gentle tendrils of power spreading out and searching for damage to undo. 

Gabriel wanted to pull his hands away from Crowley’s, to stop him before he could heal the last of his injuries, before he could discover the worst of what Aziraphale had done - but he didn’t dare pull away from him. 

Crowley _ probably _ wouldn’t hurt him for it - but Aziraphale would. 

He wasn’t allowed to stop Crowley from healing him. 

And, also… he didn’t really  _ want  _ Crowley to stop healing him. 

The prospect of being without pain - even just for a little while, after the endless hours of agony he’d endured - it was enticing beyond measure. 

Unspeakable. 

But… so was Gabriel’s shame. 

Once Crowley discovered it, Gabriel wasn’t sure what would happen. Maybe Crowley wouldn’t actually heal it at all. Maybe his essence would reach out and touch those places, feel those most intimate injuries, the evidence of Aziraphale’s betrayal and Gabriel’s lies - and Crowley would recoil in horror. Leave Gabriel with half-raised hopes and a body half-broken. 

Maybe Crowley would finally find what he needed to be finished - to walk away. 

To leave Gabriel to Aziraphale. 

Gabriel couldn’t lift his hands to cover his face, so he lowered his head against his hands, still clasped gently in Crowley’s. He couldn’t hold back the deep sobs that rose in his throat, though he did his best to stifle them, to make them silent. He shook his head, a silent plea, as he felt Crowley’s power nestling deeper inside of him, edging further down, touching the deepest of the physical trauma he’d endured. 

_ No… no, don’t see this… don’t know this, please…  _

He felt it, the moment when Crowley’s power made contact - felt the barest beginnings of healing in the deepest parts of his corporation - and then all at once Crowley jerked his hands away and rose swiftly to his feet, taking a step backward - the connection abruptly, jarringly severed. But not before Gabriel caught a trace of the powerful emotions that had made the demon withdraw his hands. 

Outrage. Disgust. Betrayal. 

Gabriel wasn’t sure which of them Crowey was feeling those things for - him, or Aziraphale. 

Perhaps it was both. 

Either way, Gabriel knew - Crowley was right to feel it. 

_ He should just turn around and walk out that door right now. Never come back.  _

It was what Gabriel knew that Crowley  _ should  _ do - and the thought filled him with a deep sense of dread. 

_ No, don’t leave him for what he’s done…  _

He felt like a selfish coward, for the desperate longing he felt to reach out and grasp Crowley’s hand and pull him back, to fall at his feet and cling to him and beg him to yell, and scream, and lash out at Gabriel with fists and feet and fangs, tear into him and unleash his hurt and rage, if only he’d  _ stay _ , if only he’d do  _ anything  _ but  _ walk out that door _ . 

_ Please don’t…  _

The desperate plea echoed in Gabriel’s mind, his heart racing as he waited for Crowley’s reaction to what he had learned. 

_ Please… don’t leave me here with him.  _


	26. Chapter 26

Please enjoy this stunning artwork by the lovely and talented Cricket - which I feel sort of encapsulates the entire concept of Descent Into Perdition <3 <3 <3 

I'm... just a little bit in awe. And feel free to leave love for Cricket in the comments... because this work is incredible!! <3 <3 <3 

And now... please enjoy 11.3k words of misery ;) 

“Really, angel? It  _ never happened _ ?” 

Crowley’s voice was low and trembling with rage. The hand he’d just snatched from Gabriel’s grasp was clenched into a white-knuckled fist at his side. Aziraphale took a step back, eyes wide, as Crowley advanced on him. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t  _ feel the hellfire _ ?” 

Gabriel buried his face in his hands, bowed his body low over his knees, and tried to be as small and unobtrusive as possible - a difficult feat, when he was physically larger than either of the other two beings, and  _ without question _ the focus of their conflict. Crowley was facing Aziraphale - a fierce, furious _ force _ , venting his anger at the angel’s lies, now exposed to the light. 

But Gabriel was still undeniably trapped between them. 

And as caught in the lie as Aziraphale. 

Crowley already knew the truth. Gabriel had let it slip, leading to Crowley’s flight from the bookshop - and Aziraphale had spent the next two weeks searing accusation into Gabriel’s flesh, making him pay for his accidental honesty in blood and ash and agony. 

He’d _ taught _ Gabriel - rigorously and repeatedly -  _ exactly _ what words to offer when the subject was brought up again. 

The same lie. 

A lie that Crowley  _ already knew  _ was a lie. 

But knowing it in his mind, and _ feeling _ it in Gabriel’s body, reaching out and _ touching _ the evidence with his own essence - were two very different matters. 

Gabriel was caught in Aziraphale’s lie - and Crowley was furious. 

_ But… he loves Aziraphale.  _

Gabriel’s heart sank as he waited with swiftly fading hope, Aziraphale’s words echoing in his memory. 

_ You should know by now… he’ll  _ always _ choose me…  _

“You  _ left  _ me, Crowley!” Aziraphale protested, reproachful. “Because of his lies. I - I was  _ upset _ .” 

“No…” Crowley held up a hand, shaking his head and turning away a little, enough that Gabriel could see the disgusted curl of his lip. “No, not _ his _ lies, angel,  _ you _ …” 

“I didn’t…” 

“Oh, but you  _ did _ , didn’t you? Can’t pretend anymore, not when I  _ know for myself _ …” 

“Crowley… I know what you  _ think _ you know, but… I didn’t…” 

Gabriel couldn’t help lifting his head and looking up at Aziraphale, disbelieving and incredulous at his nerve, to blatantly deny to Crowley’s face what Crowley  _ knew beyond all doubt _ he’d actually done. Aziraphale wasn’t looking at Gabriel, his focus locked onto Crowley as he took a halting step toward the demon, fretfully fidgeting with his hands. 

“It isn’t as if I...  _ exactly _ …” 

He glanced toward Gabriel then, and whatever defense he’d been about to offer seemed to die in his throat. He looked back to Crowley, venturing another step closer. 

“I know, I know,” he conceded at last, a soft, reluctant confession. “Crowley, don’t you see? This is why - I  _ need _ you, darling. When you’re not here, I just - I lose my balance, I lose - lose my  _ way _ , my love. I need you to - to help me to  _ not _ …” 

“ _ No _ .” Crowley held up a halting hand, shaking his head slowly, his mouth twisted with revulsion. “No, you do  _ not _ get to lay this on  _ me _ …” 

“No, I’m not, I wouldn’t,” Aziraphale insisted, shaking his head, glancing past Crowley. 

His gaze fell on Gabriel, and the bitter, vindictive fury… the vicious intent smoldering in his eyes sent a shiver down Gabriel’s spine. 

_ It’s not Crowley’s fault. It’s yours.  _

_ You’re going to be  _ so very  _ sorry _ . 

“ _ Don’t _ .” Crowley’s voice was low and warning, as he stepped deliberately in front of Aziraphale, removing Gabriel from his line of sight. “I’m going to _ finish healing him _ now… and we’re going to  _ send him home _ .” 

There was a long moment’s intent but silent communication between the angel and the demon, though neither of their faces was within Gabriel’s view. 

“Of course, of course,” Aziraphale relented at last, with a frustrated, impatient sigh - as if there was  _ no possibility on Earth _ of his attempting to find  _ yet another _ way to keep that from happening. He took a step back and waved a vague hand in Gabriel’s general direction. “Well, go ahead then.” 

Gabriel caught a glimpse of the glare Crowley leveled at the angel, lingering in his golden eyes as he turned and crouched down facing Gabriel, and allowing Aziraphale to come back into Gabriel’s view. Gabriel found his gaze arrested by the malicious resentment in Aziraphale’s icy blue eyes. 

_ Just wait, my dove. You’ll pay for this.  _

“Hey.” 

Crowley’s voice was softly insistent, pressing through Gabriel’s swiftly rising panic and drawing his attention. The serpent’s eyes were searching and sorrowful as he reached out and took one of Gabriel’s hands - far more cautious and hesitant than he’d been before. 

“I’d like to finish healing you,” he offered quietly. “Take the rest of those burns away. Yeah? ‘S that all right?” 

Aziraphale let out a soft, scoffing sound, and Gabriel glanced up to see his contemptuous sneer. Gabriel flinched, lowering his gaze to the floor between his own bare, bruised knees, and Crowley’s black-clad ones. 

_ As if he needs your permission. As if he doesn’t have the right to do whatever he likes with you, whenever he likes.  _

_ You don’t decide.  _

“ _ Gabriel. _ ” 

He dragged his reluctant gaze back up to Crowley’s face, to meet his solemn gaze. The demon’s mouth was taut with anger, a flash of it showing in his golden eyes - but his tone was careful.  _ Gentle _ . 

“I won’t do it if you don’t want it.” 

Crowley  _ knew _ , now - the things Gabriel had feared he’d learn from the process of healing. And he wasn’t walking away. He wasn’t recoiling in disgust or shoving Gabriel away - wasn’t punishing Gabriel’s lies by refusing to heal injuries he’d brought upon himself. 

Crowley still  _ wanted to help _ . 

And Gabriel wanted  _ so desperately _ just not to  _ hurt _ anymore. 

He nodded wearily, his head bowed, his eyes falling closed with exhaustion. 

“Please,” he whispered, then amended, “Y-yes, sir. Yes, please.” 

Crowley was still and quiet for a moment, before clasping Gabriel’s other hand as well, gently squeezing them both. The warm tingle of Crowley’s power flowed up Gabriel’s arms and into his body, searching until it found and touched the places that were still damaged - soaking up the remnants of the hellfire, restoring sensitive flesh to health and wholeness. 

When the work was complete, the last of the pain fading into blessed nothingness, Crowley let go of one of Gabriel’s hands, letting out a soft, heavy sigh. Gabriel’s relief was tinged with cold apprehension, a strangely bereft feeling at the thought of Crowley standing up and moving away from him, breaking contact and leaving him once more alone. 

He lifted Crowley’s hand, still clasped in his own, to his head. Trembling with relief and exhaustion, on the verge of utter collapse. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

Crowley did not move, or offer any response at all - at least, none that Gabriel could detect with his head bowed low, pressed against the back of the demon’s hand. And then, Gabriel felt Crowley’s free hand come to rest at the back of his head. He didn’t grip Gabriel’s hair to remind him of his powerlessness - didn’t shove his head down to remind him of his low status. 

Not grasping, but  _ grounding _ . 

_ Protective _ .

Crowley’s hand turned under Gabriel’s, clasping it gently. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Gabriel swallowed hard against the knot in the back of his throat, his eyes burning. He couldn’t have responded, if he’d dared. 

“All right, then,” Aziraphale breezed, the sharp, terse note behind his words cutting through the warm haze that seemed to surround Gabriel, sending a shiver down his spine. “If you’re quite finished, love…” 

Gabriel shied away from Crowley automatically, tugging just a little against the demon’s hand wrapped around his, in response to the clear disapproval in Aziraphale’s tone. And Crowley didn’t tighten his grasp, or jerk Gabriel closer in retaliation for his resistance. 

Crowley simply  _ let him go _ . 

“... I suppose it’s time we sent our little bird home to his nest, isn’t it?” 

Gabriel went very still, barely daring to venture an uncertain glance up to Aziraphale’s face. The principality’s smile was soft and serene, but there was a flash of something dangerous in his eyes. 

“Would you like that, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel froze, heart racing, desperately afraid of saying the wrong thing and shattering the hope just beginning to bloom in his chest. 

“Y-yes, sir?” he whispered. He swallowed, struggling to steady his voice as he bowed his head in respectful gratitude. “Yes. Thank you, sir.” 

Aziraphale pressed past Crowley to crouch in front of Gabriel, and Crowley’s gentle hand at the back of Gabriel’s head was pushed out of reach, as the demon rose and stepped back, and the principality crowded into the vacated space. Gabriel’s heart clenched with alarm. He didn’t dare lift his eyes, his breath coming in swift, shallow gasps as he braced himself for whatever Aziraphale intended.

_ That’s what will happen. Whatever he wants. Don’t plead, don’t fight…  _

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. Gabriel flinched, his breath catching. 

There was no pain. Instead, he simply found himself immediately clothed - in the casual outfit Aziraphale had approved. 

All at once, he felt sick. 

There was… a  _ problem _ . 

He knew that if he was going back to Heaven - if he was going to convince Michael that there was no cause for alarm, to avoid drawing negative attention from the Heavenly host, and prevent this messy situation from escalating… he  _ could not _ show up looking like _ this _ . 

There was not a trace of  _ desire _ left within him for his old style of dress. He’d felt so very uncomfortable in the stunning suit Michael had procured for him. It didn’t feel like  _ him _ anymore. He’d felt too hot and trapped - like a butterfly on display, high on the platform under the bright lights, pinned and useless under the focused judgment of all their eyes. 

But Michael had been  _ so happy _ to see him in that suit - a reassuring sign to her that perhaps he wasn’t so very changed, after all, from the archangel she’d known since their Creation. It was a meaningless scrap of pretty fabric… but a small gesture he could make that would, perhaps, head off any further attempts at intervention. 

Head off Aziraphale’s wrath, and Michael’s destruction. 

Gabriel didn’t  _ want _ it - but he knew what he had to do. 

He had  _ no idea _ how he was  _ ever _ going to convince  _ Aziraphale. _

Gabriel closed his eyes and carefully, haltingly raised one finger to his lips. He heard Crowley suck in a sharp breath - heard nothing at all from Aziraphale. 

Could very nearly hear the pounding of his own heart in the heavy stillness. 

At last Aziraphale’s voice broke the silence - dangerously soft, deceptively patient. “Yes, what is it, my dove?” 

“I - I’m not going to say anything. To Michael, or - to anyone, I swear…  _ but _ …” He glanced fretfully up at Aziraphale, whose eyes narrowed with suspicion at the last word - and hurried on, desperate to make him understand. “I need to keep up appearances, while I’m in Heaven. So they don’t - worry. So they don’t think they - need to  _ do _ something.” 

Aziraphale frowned, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “Well, of course you’re free to speak while you’re in Heaven, away from here,” he said, as if it was a non-issue, a non-existent problem that Gabriel was stupid to bring up. “As long as you’re quite careful about  _ what words _ you speak. We wouldn’t want to arouse any fresh suspicions as to your welfare, now, would we?” 

Gabriel shook his head, lips parted to explain that that was  _ exactly the problem _ … 

“Of course, if you’re asked to speak  _ publicly _ again, you should politely decline,” Aziraphale continued, casually pensive. “No one needs to hear what you have to say.” 

Gabriel’s face flushed with shame. “No, I - I know, that’s… not…” His words faltered, his heart racing as Aziraphale cast a disapproving gaze on him, his frown deepening at his apparent contradiction. “That’s not what I  _ meant. _ ” He rushed to get the words out, before Aziraphale could further misunderstand his intent. “Michael, she - she’s been concerned about - my clothes.” 

Gabriel stopped to catch his breath, closing his eyes with relief that at least the worst of it - the part most necessary, and most likely to draw Aziraphale’s wrath - was already out. He glanced uncertainly, imploringly up toward Crowley, who was frowning slightly with confusion, clearly having little idea what Gabriel was talking about. 

With dread, Gabriel forced himself to look back up at Aziraphale. 

There was a cool, knowing  _ smile _ on his lips. 

A sick, rapid trembling in his chest, Gabriel hurried to explain. “She said… the other angels have been upset, because… I don’t seem like myself. And - the way I’ve been dressing… she gave me the suit because she thought it was… that important. I’m afraid that - she’s going to keep pushing, if - if I don’t…”

“If you don’t take that mantel of prideful importance right back onto your shoulders and play the impressive, powerful role you’ve always played?” Aziraphale concluded, softly taunting. “My, what a  _ burden _ that must be for you.” 

Gabriel shivered, shaking his head. “Please, I don’t want it, I don’t want it anymore,” he insisted, desperate. “I just… what if she asks again? I - don’t have very good answers for her.” His voice broke over the imploring words. “What if she starts… having me watched? What if someone follows me here? I don’t  _ want _ them to come here, I don’t want them to get hurt. If I could - just keep them from being suspicious, then maybe I can keep them…” 

“ _ Safe _ ,” Aziraphale concluded, soft and understanding. 

Gabriel let out a deep, shaky breath, nodding with relief. “Yes, sir.” 

Aziraphale crouched down facing him, head tilted as he surveyed him speculatively. He reached out a hand to tilt Gabriel’s head up, making eye contact for a moment before slowly, thoughtfully, looking him over. He brushed some imaginary imperfection from Gabriel’s shoulder, then the collar of his shirt, his lips falling into a soft pout of unhappy resignation. 

“Yes, I suppose I can see your point,” he conceded with a sigh. “You may wear your dress attire again.” He gave Gabriel a sharp, warning look as he warned, “No fancy pins, or cufflinks, or brilliant celestial light woven through the fabric to show everyone just how very impressive you are.” He held Gabriel’s gaze, his words soft with contempt. “You’re not worthy to be clothed in Her light.” 

Gabriel lowered his head in humble acceptance. 

“Yes, sir.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, holding Gabriel pinned under the spotlight of his judgment. Finally, he nodded. 

“All right, then.” 

He straightened to his feet and snapped his fingers, and Gabriel let out a soft sigh, expecting to find himself clothed in, if not Michael’s gift, something similarly appropriate to his Heavenly position. 

Instead, he found himself abruptly, completely naked. 

His stomach lurched, his arms automatically rising to wrap around his bare body. 

“Angel, what are you doing?” Crowley immediately protested, a tremor of alarm in the sharp, demanding words. 

Aziraphale did not answer, as he spun on his heel and walked to his desk, opening the drawer where he kept his tools. Gabriel’s heart thudded rapidly in his chest, his breath quickening with rising panic that reached a fevered pitch when Aziraphale turned around - the hellfire dagger in his hand. 

“If he’s going back to his old manner of dress,” Aziraphale explained, quiet and calm, “then he’ll need a  _ different  _ reminder toward humility. I’m simply going to give him one.” 

Gabriel was trembling, sick with terror. Aziraphale didn’t believe him. Despite Gabriel’s very honest reasons, Aziraphale was unconvinced, believing his request to be rooted in pride and arrogance. 

He shook his head, pleading softly, “No, I’m sorry, I’ll wear it, I’ll wear whatever you want, please…” 

“Aziraphale, _ enough _ ,” Crowley snapped, taking a step toward Gabriel. 

Aziraphale reached him first, delivering a breathtaking slap across his face. Punishment for begging, Gabriel realized - for speaking out of turn. 

_ Stupid, useless idiot… keep fucking it up, don’t you? Keep making it worse… _

“ _ Stop it _ !” Crowley demanded, his voice rising with outrage as he moved forward. 

Aziraphale adjusted his position, moving a step or two away from Crowley, his hand falling to rest casually against Gabriel’s shoulder - the hand that still held the dagger. The handle was pressed between, digging into Gabriel’s shoulder, the blade itself a bare inch from his face.

Gabriel barely dared to breathe, his eyes locked onto the gleaming metal. 

“Careful, love.” Aziraphale addressed Crowley, deceptively mild, his cool gaze focused on Gabriel over a grim, satisfied smile. “This is a very dangerous weapon. I’d hate to slip.” 

Crowley froze. “Aziraphale…” His eyes were anguished, his words terse and trembling. “... angel,  _ don’t do this _ …” 

Aziraphale let out a soft little huff of quiet laughter. “Don’t be silly, Crowley,” he chided. “You don’t even know what I mean to do.” 

Crowley didn’t move, his anxious eyes locked onto the spot where the blade  _ almost  _ touched Gabriel. 

Aziraphale sighed, and Gabriel flinched as Aziraphale’s free hand came to rest on his cheek. He expected to be dragged in closer to the blade, further menaced with it for Crowley’s benefit - but the brush of Aziraphale’s fingertips was light and gentle, and accompanied by a swift rush of angelic power. The throbbing ache from the hard slap vanished away - a bruise that had yet to form, healed into mere memory. 

Aziraphale’s hand lowered, fingers trailing slowly along the diagonal scar on Gabriel’s chest. 

“Just… a slight adjustment to  _ this _ ,” Aziraphale explained softly. “As a reminder.” 

Gabriel felt sick. He wanted to pull away from the teasing touch, from Aziraphale’s gently restrictive hand on his shoulder, wanted to plead, to promise  _ anything _ , if only Aziraphale wouldn’t employ the hellfire blade. After all the suffering he’d endured during the past few months, it still stood out in his memory - the unbearable agony of that first searing burn, etched into his skin. 

“Crowley, my love,” Aziraphale continued with mild regret. “You may not wish to be present for this. You’ll surely find it upsetting. It’s probably best if you… step out.” 

Crowley let out a sharp, disbelieving bark of laughter, crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulders falling back in clear challenge. 

“Oh, I’m not going  _ anywhere _ ,” he declared. “If you think for a  _ second _ I’m leaving you alone with him, angel, you’re daft.” 

Gabriel studied Crowley’s face, trying to understand what it was he was seeing there. Most certainly anger, and outrage, and… was it… jealousy? At the idea of Gabriel being alone with his angel, being touched by him, without Crowley present to monitor the nature of that touch? 

No… he’d  _ seen _ Crowley jealous.  _ Seething _ with it - threatening, eager to place any and all blame on Gabriel’s shoulders, and this… this was  _ not that _ . 

This was more like the righteous indignation he’d heard in Crowley’s voice as he’d demanded an explanation for the state of Gabriel’s legs… as he’d confronted Aziraphale about the internal hellfire burns. It wasn’t resentful or hostile toward Gabriel in any way. 

It was…  _ protective _ . 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aziraphale mused with a pensive frown. He waited a moment before concluding, soft and sly, “It’s past time you started participating.” 

Gabriel’s stomach plummeted at the suggestion, and Crowley took an involuntary step back. 

“What?  _ No _ , I didn’t say that…” 

“You’re a part of this, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s words were cool and sharp, a note of unyielding steel underlying them. “Whether you like it or not. You  _ know _ you are.” 

“It’s  _ enough _ , Aziraphale!” Crowley insisted. “He’s been through enough!” 

“Oh, he’s fine. There’s not a mark on him, love,” Aziraphale declared, dismissive and exasperated. “You’ve seen to that.” 

Crowley’s eyes blazed with defiance. “There’s one,” he declared, nodding toward the scar on Gabriel’s chest. 

“Honestly, Crowley,” Aziraphale concluded, cool and quiet. “When you gave it to me, did you expect I’d never  _ use  _ it?” 

Crowley looked stricken. He dropped his gaze, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat, a flash of shame across his face. “Not… not like this,” he said, the words low and thick with some nameless emotion. “I - never wanted  _ any _ of this.” 

A tense silence fell for a long moment, before Aziraphale released a heavy sigh, his expression softening for Crowley’s distress. “As I said, my love,” he repeated, his words hushed and gentle, “perhaps it’s best if you wait upstairs. Or in the shop…” 

Crowley lifted his gaze then, anguished, first to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, and then Gabriel’s - and finally settling on the blade again, his jaw set with silent, stubborn insistence. 

Aziraphale’s sigh this time was far less tolerant, an irritated huff, his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder tight as his terse, warning words. “Darling, I’m  _ trying _ to be patient, but you’re just making this take much longer than it has to. I could be done already, if you weren’t making such a case of it.” 

Gabriel winced, drawing in a soft, sharp breath as the blade dipped just slightly closer to his skin. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back just a little - not daring to move enough for Aziraphale to call it resistance. He didn’t know how much it would take to set him off again, to cause him to fly into a rage and lose control - and the blade was so near to Gabriel’s skin that he could feel the heat emanating off its surface. 

He was so exhausted. So scared. 

He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

Careful not to bring his hand anywhere near the potent hellfire blade, Gabriel lifted a hesitant, trembling finger to his lips, and waited. 

**********************************************************************************************

For a brief, desperate moment, it occurred to Crowley once again to simply _ tell the truth _ . 

The watch did nothing to hinder Gabriel’s power. If he only knew that his power far outweighed Aziraphale’s - it would be over in a moment, this whole disgusting farce, Aziraphale’s tyrannical ego trip -  _ Gabriel’s suffering _ . 

Except now that Gabriel was wearing the watch again, there was every chance that it would all go pear-shaped before Crowley could even convince him that he was telling the truth, that Aziraphale  _ really wasn’t  _ so very powerful,  _ really couldn’t _ withstand and create hellfire. 

If Crowley could convince him  _ at all _ . 

Gabriel was so visibly terrified of Aziraphale - hanging on his every command, poised and ready every moment to do whatever he thought might most please him. 

Convincing the archangel that Aziraphale had been faking his power all this time would certainly take longer than the half a second it would take Aziraphale to set the timer on the watch for... well,  _ half a second _ , and immediately incapacitate the archangel. Get the cuffs back on him. Render him powerless once more. 

And if that happened, Crowley knew - Aziraphale would  _ never _ let Gabriel leave the bookshop again - not with the knowledge Crowley would have imparted to him.

Crowley’s guilt was already more than he could stand; he didn’t think he could live with himself if that happened. 

And… on the miniscule chance that Gabriel  _ did _ believe Crowley and take action  _ instantly, _ overpower and obliterate Aziraphale…

Well… Crowley didn’t think he’d be able to live with  _ that _ , either. 

_ Probably wouldn’t have to live with it for long. You’d be next.  _

Crowley was dragged from his troubled, racing thoughts when Gabriel lifted a finger to his lips. 

_ Don’t… no, don’t speak right now, archangel… not with that blade an inch from your mouth…  _

For God’s chosen messenger, Gabriel seemed spectacularly talented at saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time - absolutely bloody brilliant at getting himself into trouble. 

_ Oh, but he’s got nothing on you, does he?  _ You’re  _ the best at  _ that _ , Crowley… _

“Yes, Gabriel.” Aziraphale’s tone carried only the thinnest thread of patience, liable to snap at any moment. 

Gabriel kept his head bowed low, biting his lip. He was trembling. He glanced up at Crowley, and the sheer exhaustion in his eyes made Crowley’s heart ache. Gabriel swallowed slowly, then looked up at Aziraphale, his words escaping his lips in a weary, desolate whisper. 

“I - I just want to go home.” 

Crowley’s chest tightened, his eyes burning with sympathy. He looked to Aziraphale, to find his expression not angry, but cool. Speculative and unsympathetic. Gabriel looked at Crowley, and then at Aziraphale, no trace of resentment or defiance in his violet gaze - only an earnest, quiet desperation. 

“Please,” he whispered. “I’ll - I’ll take whatever lesson I deserve. If you want me to have a - a mark, I won’t s-struggle or - or fight you, I’ll take it, but -  _ please _ , sir…” 

Abruptly, the archangel’s gaze shifted to focus on Crowley, and Crowley lost his breath for a moment at the imploring expression in his eyes - Gabriel’s aching plea directed at  _ him _ , rather than Aziraphale. 

“I just want… to get it over with. To be done, so I can - can go home.  _ Please _ .” 

The words fractured into choked sobs at the end, and Gabriel lifted a shaking hand to cover his face, his shoulders quaking. To Crowley’s relief, Aziraphale lifted his hand, and the blade, away, before any damage could be done. 

But devastating realization dawned in Crowley’s mind, a deep pit in his stomach, as he stared down at the broken, weeping archangel. 

_ He’s asking me to go. To let this happen.  _

_ To stop trying to help, and making everything worse. To just… let Aziraphale do what he wants, so he’ll let him go after.  _

If  _ he’ll let him go after…  _

“I do believe he’s asking you to leave,” Aziraphale’s eyes were alight with cruel amusement. “But... “ He caught Gabriel’s hair with his empty hand, dragging a soft, pleading whimper past his lips as he jerked it, his tone hardening. “... he hasn’t any right to tell  _ you _ what to do, does he?” 

His expectant gaze focused on Crowley as he spoke, waiting for his response. 

And Crowley realized how Aziraphale had trapped him in Gabriel’s words. 

Crowley could stay, and confirm Aziraphale’s accusation, implicitly  _ agree _ that Gabriel had  _ no right  _ to reject his help. Send the message to the archangel, once again, that his consent had no bearing on the situation - what he wanted was irrelevant. Possibly even give Aziraphale another excuse to punish him. 

Or… he could do as Gabriel had asked, and walk away and give Aziraphale exactly what he wanted - the opportunity to further torture and terrorize his captive in privacy. 

“It’s just a slight adjustment,” Aziraphale insisted, soft and cajoling. “Will only take a few minutes, and it’ll be done.” His phrasing and tone were infuriatingly casual - as if he might have been discussing tailoring a flawed garment to better suit his preferences. “Then Gabriel can return to Heaven, as he so dearly wishes… and you and I can work on coming to terms with all this. Yes?” 

An uneasy feeling settled in Crowley’s stomach - a sudden, vivid realization. 

Once Gabriel left - Crowley wasn’t going to have a moment alone. Aziraphale would keep a vigilant eye on him, wary that he might try to leave again.    
  


_ Not going anywhere. Not without the archangel.  _

_ Not leaving him here to Aziraphale’s meager mercies.  _

But beyond that, Crowley knew the angel well. He knew without question that as soon as Gabriel was gone, Aziraphale would start in again,  _ hard _ , at trying to convince Crowley to accept things the way he wanted them. He would push to repair what Crowley was swiftly realizing was irreparable. He would employ his extensive vocabulary and impressive skill in using it to try to bring Crowley around to his way of thinking. 

_ And… he might not limit himself to a persuasive verbal argument.  _

Crowley wanted Gabriel to be allowed to leave the bookshop, the sooner the better - but before that happened, there was something Crowley needed. 

He had the creeping suspicion that if he didn’t get it, he wouldn’t be able to help Gabriel at all. 

_ Won’t even remember that you ever wanted to. _

Crowley made his decision, glaring up at Aziraphale with furious resentment. “You’re going to do as you like, anyway, aren’t you?” he countered, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the backroom. 

Aziraphale was swift to follow him - much as Crowley had expected. 

As Aziraphale closed the backroom door, Crowley whirled around to face him, demanding, “Haven’t you done enough? I didn’t heal him just so you could start all over again!” 

“I’m hardly going to hurt him,” Aziraphale insisted with a dismissive wave of his hand, taking a couple of steps toward Crowley - who swiftly backed away from him, eyeing him warily. “Just a small alteration to the mark that’s already there. It’ll burn for a few days, and it’ll scar - and it’ll be  _ done _ . He’ll have no trouble keeping it safely hidden beneath those fancy clothes he  _ insists _ on wearing despite my wishes. And he’ll never forget his place.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, concluding with clear contempt, “Even while parading around Heaven like the ridiculous peacock he is.” 

“His  _ place _ …” Crowley echoed, aghast. “How can you not see… did you even  _ look _ at him just now?” he demanded with rising outrage. “Angel, he’s  _ not _ prideful, he’s not even…”

Aziraphale glanced pointedly toward the backroom, then lifted one hand and snapped his fingers over his shoulder in its general direction. Crowley knew immediately that he’d performed his sound-proofing miracle. 

_ Oh, no. The archangel might overhear me contradicting Aziraphale… telling him he’s  _ wrong _. Can’t have _ that _ , can we? Might undermine his sick little  _ lessons… 

“I know just  _ exactly _ who and what he is.” 

The cold, hateful bitterness of Aziraphale’s words sent a foreboding shiver down Crowley’s spine. His alarm must have shown on his face, because Aziraphale closed his eyes, drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly - and when he opened them again, his expression had softened. 

“I  _ know him,  _ Crowley. I spent thousands of years focusing my efforts on meeting his expectations. I know how he thinks, how he communicates. I know how best to - to  _ manage  _ him.” 

“ _ Manage _ him?” Crowley exploded, incredulous and outraged. “You’ve bloody well _ destroyed _ him!” 

“Well.” Aziraphale’s mouth twitched at the corner - revealing the barest trace of his contempt. There was a flash of ugly, vindictive satisfaction in his icy blue gaze, a dismissive little roll of his eyes toward the backroom. He looked back to Crowley, his words soft and cold. “He wasn’t all that much to begin with.” 

Crowley was struck silent by the casual, dismissive cruelty in the words, belied by a sudden shift in the angel’s face to soft understanding - as easily as slipping behind a mask. 

“You’re a compassionate being,” Aziraphale said softly, reaching out toward Crowley, his fingers brushing the back of his hand. “But it’s sorely misplaced here, my love. He’s far from worthy of it.” 

Crowley jerked his hand away from Aziraphale’s as if it had burned him. 

He felt like he was looking at a stranger. 

The cold weight of fresh realization settled over him, and spilled from his lips. 

“You made the blessing strong enough to hurt me on purpose.” 

Aziraphale froze for just a split second, his soft smile faltering for an instant. And when at last he spoke, his reassurances were  _ bathed _ in that moment, tainted by his hesitation. 

Crowley knew the truth before he ever said a word. 

“I’d never hurt you, darling,” Aziraphale declared. “I made it strong on purpose, yes. It did need to be a -  _ deterrent _ .” His tone went soft and regretful. “As I said. It’s your soft heart, Crowley, your…  _ sympathy _ for… for…” He waved a disgusted hand toward the backroom door. “Someone who’d destroy you in an instant if he believed himself at liberty to do so. I…” He let out a slow sigh, shaking his head. “I thought it’d be enough to keep you from opening the cuffs. I  _ never _ thought it’d be enough to - to scar you, my love. And for that, I’m _ truly _ ... “ 

“ _ Don’t _ .” 

Crowley held up a hand, and Aziraphale fell silent with a hurt, troubled frown. 

“I just - I can’t.” Crowley shook his head in disgust, moving past Aziraphale toward the stairs. “I can’t hear this, can’t  _ be around _ you right now...”

“Crowley, wait…”

Crowley spun around at the foot of the stairs, glaring at Aziraphale. “Whenever you’ve finished with… with…” He shook his head, taking a moment to wrestle his anger and disgust back under control. “I’m healing it,” he declared, quiet but certain. “Whatever… mark, or reminder, or fresh hell you’ve devised for that poor sod… I’m healing it.” 

Aziraphale frowned, prepared to argue, but Crowley held up a silencing hand, shaking his head. 

“A scar is one thing, to help him remember. It’s still  _ vile _ ,” Crowley hissed, eyes narrowed and furious. “But so help me, we’re  _ not _ sending him home suffering. He’s been through enough pain.” He held Aziraphale’s gaze, unflinching from the accusation of his words. “I saw it myself.” 

“Of - of course,” Aziraphale conceded, hurriedly agreeable. “Yes, Crowley, of course, that’s fine…”

“One slip of that blade…” Aziraphale’s words echoed in Crowley’s mind, and fell, thoughtful, from his lips. “If you kill him, angel… I’m walking out, and I  _ won’t _ be back.” He was quiet a moment, before concluding, “There’d be  _ nothing _ left to keep me here.” 

Aziraphale flinched at the deliberately barbed words, his lip quivering a little with hurt, but he kept his tone light, reproachful at the mere suggestion. “I’m not going to  _ kill _ him, Crowley,  _ really _ .” 

Crowley turned back toward the stairs. 

“Where are you going?” 

The faint note of panic in Aziraphale’s words made Crowley feel wary, alarmed - as if Aziraphale might actually try to stop him if he didn’t like the answer. 

_ My hands are feeling much better now. Thanks for that, angel.  _

_ You won’t hold me down a second time.  _

He had no intention of leaving the bookshop, though - not yet. 

Not as long as Gabriel was still there. 

“Upstairs to the apartment, does that meet with your  _ approval _ ?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale’s tone softened, and he kept speaking as Crowley started up the stairs. “I - I don’t know what I’d do if you left me, Crowley.” 

Crowley stopped for just a moment, wrestling with the desire to turn and tell Aziraphale  _ exactly  _ what he thought of  _ that _ twisted, manipulative sentiment. 

_ No. Ignore him, go upstairs.  _

_ Get what you need to  _ stop him _ , later.  _

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice was small and pleading. 

Crowley ignored him and continued up the stairs. 

His phone was on the nightstand where he’d left it. 

He picked it up as he sat down on the edge of the bed - then swiftly stood up again, staring down at the slightly disheveled bedding with a cold, shiver sliding its way down his spine. 

Aziraphale’s whisper echoed in his memory, the phantom brush of warm breath against his skin. 

_ It’s all right… you’re safe with me… I’d never hurt you, my darling…  _

Tender reassurance, as he disregarded Crowley’s anxious, pleading protests and put his hands on him anyway, did _ exactly as he liked, anyway _ . 

Crowley swallowed back the sick swell in the back of his throat, and stepped out into the living room. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t be coming upstairs for a while, he wagered. 

And… _ that _ was a sickening thought, too. 

Crowley focused his attention on his phone - and found himself staring at it for a long moment. 

He wasn’t sure just how much he wanted to tell Anathema. 

How much she could know… and still be willing to help him. 

And he  _ needed _ her to help him. 

_ So I can help Gabriel. So I can get him out of this mess I got him into.  _

He knew better than to linger in his anxious hesitation. If Aziraphale was telling the truth, and whatever unspeakable thing he was doing to Gabriel really wasn’t going to take very long, then he didn’t have much time. 

He dialed Anathema’s number. 

She answered on the second ring, her words trembling with mingled relief and urgency. 

“ _ Are you okay? _ ”

***************************************************************************************************

Aziraphale watched Crowley disappear up the stairs with sinking hope… and rising frustrations. 

Crowley just  _ wouldn’t hear him _ . 

_ It used to be so much easier… he used to listen to me, to  _ trust _ me…  _

Aziraphale didn’t know just when things had begun to go so terribly wrong between him and Crowley - when Crowley had stopped prioritizing their relationship, stopped trusting him, and started viewing him with such cold suspicion - as if he was the enemy, instead of the one being in all of time and existence who loved him more than anything. And, beyond simply  _ keeping Crowley there _ , by whatever means necessary, until he could find a way to make him come around and see reason, and possibility, and all the things Aziraphale hoped that they could one day share…

Aziraphale had  _ no idea _ how to fix it. 

He cast a cold glare toward the backroom door, moving toward it with swift, purposeful steps. 

At least he knew whose fault it was. 

The archangel trembling on his knees, waiting in silent submission for Aziraphale’s return, was a gratifying sight indeed. Aziraphale smiled when he flinched at the sound of the closing door. 

“Quite persuasive, aren’t you?” he remarked, deceptively light. He trailed his fingertips across the back of Gabriel’s neck, just to relish the feeling of his shiver under the touch, as he made his way past his captive - to the hellfire dagger, left lying out on the top of the desk. “Very impressive.” 

Gabriel ducked his head, drawing in soft, shallow breaths, his arms wrapped around his body as he tried to make himself as small and inoffensive as possible. Aziraphale saw a slight stuttering falter on his lips for just an instant, before he bit them shut, closing his eyes, tense and braced for the worst. 

_ Good. He’s learning.  _

_ Won’t help him in the slightest now… but he’s learning.  _

“You knew just exactly what to say, didn’t you?” 

Aziraphale suffused his words with false, exaggerated admiration as he approached Gabriel from behind - taking his time. Enjoying the way his head jerked slightly as he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder, to track Aziraphale’s progress, and instead kept his head humbly bowed. 

“To convince Crowley to leave the room - when he _ certainly _ wasn’t listening to a word  _ I  _ had to say on the matter. But the  _ moment _ you made it clear that  _ you _ wanted him to leave, well…” 

Aziraphale stopped behind Gabriel, clasping one firm hand around his throat and yanking him back against his own body. Gabriel instinctively lifted one shaking hand toward Aziraphale’s choking grip, but then lowered it again with an effort, gasping desperately for the breath Aziraphale denied him. Aziraphale leaned down to whisper, low and taunting in Gabriel’s ear. 

“So good of you to  _ grant your permission _ , oh mighty archangel.” 

Gabriel shook his head within Aziraphale’s grasp, and Aziraphale felt the wet heat of his tears against his arm. 

“No,” Gabriel choked out. “No, that’s not… I didn’t mean…”

Aziraphale brought the blade a hair’s breadth from Gabriel’s mouth, and his words fell away in an instant. Aziraphale eased his grip on Gabriel’s throat, sliding his fingers up through Gabriel’s hair as he moved around to crouch beside him, never shifting the blade from its dangerous position. 

The archangel’s violet eyes were locked onto the tip of the blade, wide with terror and welling with tears. Aziraphale gently, soothingly stroked his hair, keeping his voice hushed and calming. 

“You  _ will  _ remember to keep that very talented mouth of yours very,  _ very quiet _ , won’t you?” he reminded Gabriel, his words soft with false sympathy, a mockery of Crowley’s concern, as he concluded, “So my sweet demon doesn’t feel the need to come back in here… just to make sure you’re all right…” 

Gabriel shook his head, desperately indicating that he did not want that, either. 

“You seem to be having trouble with that, don’t you?” Aziraphale mused. “I could help you. If you think you might not be able to manage. Would you like me to help you?” 

“N-no, sir,” Gabriel rasped out, breathless, tears sliding down his face. 

“Very good.” 

Aziraphale rose to his feet, at last withdrawing the blade and giving Gabriel room to breathe. He looked him over for a moment as he gasped with relief, bowing low over his knees in wordless gratitude. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, then smiled at the cuffs he’d brought to his hand, before tossing them down in front of Gabriel’s face. 

Gabriel rose up a little, just enough to see them lying there. Aziraphale drank in his expression of stunned, stricken horror - the slight shake of his head that he barely dared allow to show his desperation. 

Aziraphale thought the sight of the cuffs _ just might _ drive him to failure once more - to pleading, tearful words, begging Aziraphale not to make him put them back on - not when he’d only just taken them off. 

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed back a sob - before taking up the cuffs and wordlessly, obediently putting them on. Aziraphale felt a swift, sweet rush of affection for him. He reached out to gently tilt Gabriel’s face up to meet his eyes. Gabriel turned fearful, pleading eyes up toward Aziraphale, tears flowing freely down his face - no more sound than a soft, trembling breath escaping his lips. 

“That’s my good, sweet dove,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m very pleased with you.” 

Gabriel’s face crumpled with relief, his shoulders quaking as he closed his eyes, leaning into Aziraphale’s gentle touch - a wordless expression of gratitude and a plea for mercy rolled into one. 

“I do understand. Don’t think that I don’t,” Aziraphale said, soft and solemn. “It’s necessary for you to put on the trappings of the image you’ve constructed for yourself in Heaven, again. The other angels need to see you as they’ve always seen you, in order to feel safe. In order to feel that… all is still right with their world. They believe it’s how it’s supposed to be - because that is how it has always been.” 

His tone hardened, his hand sliding around to the back of Gabriel’s neck to grasp his hair and pull his head back. 

“And that was  _ your _ choice, wasn’t it? Your decision to make them see you that way. To teach them that that is how a celestial leader should present himself.” He leaned down, pulling Gabriel up higher on his knees to whisper into his ear. 

“But  _ it’s a lie _ … isn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel gasped out, shaking with panic. 

Aziraphale allowed his hand to soften, soothing the sting away from Gabriel’s abused scalp with gentle, probing fingers. “And what I’m going to give you now, Gabriel, will be a reminder of your true place, your true value. It will be _ truth _ , seared into your flesh for  _ always _ . To  _ help _ you. So you don’t forget.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel repeated, breathless, sobbing. “Th-thank you, sir…”

Aziraphale’s hand stilled with surprise, and he allowed a slow, warm smile to pass across his lips, before he leaned in to press them gently to Gabriel’s hairline. 

“You’re most welcome,” he murmured, drawing back to meet the archangel’s eyes - drowned in terror, drinking in Aziraphale’s every look, every word, with silent desperation. 

“Now,” Aziraphale said softly, tenderly. “Let’s get this done with, my dove… and get you home.”

***********************************************************************************************

“Thanks, love. I really owe you one.” Crowley released a heavy sigh of relief, closing his eyes and pressing thumb and forefinger against his aching brow. 

Anathema was silent for a moment. When she spoke, she sounded unhappily resigned. 

“I was hoping you’d…  _ come here _ for me to help you.” 

Crowley desperately wished that he could have done that, as well. All at once, he felt very sad, and very much alone. 

“I know.” 

“And you’re  _ sure _ you’re not in danger, Crowley?” 

“No, I’m not,” he replied. 

_ Not at all sure. Not of anything.  _

“You already know what I think. You should just leave,” Anathema insisted, her disheartened tone making it clear how little hope she held out that he might actually do so. 

“I told you - I can’t.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I know.”

Anathema hesitated, an anxious note to her voice as she asked, “Will I see you this Saturday?” 

Crowley didn’t answer. He didn’t want to make any false promises to her - and he had no intention of going anywhere and leaving Aziraphale free to take advantage of his absence. 

“ _ Next _ Saturday?” she persisted, a taut edge of panic behind her carefully calm tone.

“I’ll call you, love,” Crowley assured her. 

At least he could promise her that. 

He missed her, desperately, and wanted nothing more than to get in the Bentley and drive to her house, to pour out everything to her and beg her not to reject him. 

He couldn’t seem to get out a single word past the lump in his throat. 

He disconnected the call without another word - well aware that doing so would in no way serve to  _ ease _ her fears - but then, he wasn’t sure easing her fears was a good idea at the moment, anyway.

He was fairly certain there was good reason for them both to be afraid.

When Crowley returned to the shop, the door to the backroom was standing open. 

All seemed quiet inside. 

He ventured warily past the threshold - and froze at the chilling intimacy of the scene he found there. 

Aziraphale and Gabriel were in a position reminiscent of the one in which he’d found them in when he’d first entered the room that morning - Aziraphale calmly seated in his chair, a book open in his lap; Gabriel kneeling at his side - with a couple of strikingly unsettling differences. 

Gabriel’s head rested against Aziraphale’s knee, his eyes closed, his chest heaving with deep, sobbing breaths. Aziraphale’s hand was in his hair, stroking soothingly. As Crowley watched, Aziraphale’s hand shifted slowly downward, fingers trailing down the nape of his neck, soft and suggestive, until they reached the bare skin just between his shoulder blades. 

Crowley felt an icy chill of dread trickle down his spine at the realization of  _ just exactly where  _ Aziraphale was touching Gabriel. 

Gabriel did not move, or resist in any way the unwelcome, gently menacing touch. 

And then, Aziraphale leaned down, whispering softly near Gabriel’s ear. The archangel shivered at whatever he heard, drawing in a shuddering breath, shaking his head slowly in wordless, pleading despair. 

Aziraphale smiled softly - then lifted his eyes without lifting his head, meeting Crowley’s gaze across the room. 

The cold light of malicious pleasure in them took Crowley’s breath. 

“Ah, there you are, love.” Aziraphale sat up straight again, his hand still slowly, idly stroking between Gabriel’s shoulder blades. “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

Crowley cast an uneasy glance at Gabriel, who didn’t move, didn’t look up. 

Aziraphale’s hand returned to Gabriel’s hair, stroking gently. “Go on, then,” he coaxed the archangel, a warning note behind his deceptively light words. “Do you want him to heal you or not?” 

Gabriel lifted his head at last, his eyes red-rimmed and harrowed as he looked first to Aziraphale and then back toward Crowley. He hesitated a moment, one hand braced as if he would rise to his feet, then glanced at Aziraphale again with uncertainty - and decided against it, instead choosing to crawl the brief distance to kneel at Crowley’s feet. 

Crowley felt sick. 

He crouched down facing Gabriel, doing his best to ignore Aziraphale’s smug smile and curious eyes, watching them closely from across the room. Crowley reached out a hand to gently tilt Gabriel’s head up, ducking down in an attempt to catch his gaze, wordlessly urging him to straighten up a bit. The archangel remained bowed low, seeming reluctant to lift his head higher than Crowley’s.

“Let me see,” Crowley pressed gently. “What did he do?” 

“Only what was agreed upon,” Aziraphale sighed, rolling his eyes as if mildly offended at Crowley’s suspicions - as if anyone in the room had agreed to this besides him. “There, you see - show him the mark I made, Gabriel. Go ahead.” 

Gabriel immediately straightened up, eyes carefully downcast - and Crowley drew in a sharp hiss through his teeth at the sight of the fresh hellfire burn on his chest. An addition to the existing one, as Aziraphale had promised - small, but raw and livid. 

Crowley frowned. It didn’t make sense. 

“What does it… I mean… why…?” 

He immediately regretted asking, when Aziraphale rose from his seat, cheerful and expectant as he crossed the room to place a firm, gentle hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabriel flinched, eyes tightly shut for a moment, biting his lip - but he didn’t dare move away or show any resistance to the touch. 

“Why don’t you explain to Crowley what it means?” Aziraphale suggested, soft and leading. 

Gabriel nodded unsteadily, drawing in an uneven breath. “Y-yes, sir.” 

He swallowed slowly, glancing up at Crowley with harrowed, shame-filled eyes. 

“It’s… a W,” he said - quite unnecessarily. 

Crowley winced, fully prepared to express that that much was obvious - but before he could, Aziraphale grabbed a handful of Gabriel’s hair, yanking his head back. 

“Crowley knows what a W is, dove,” he bit off his words, low and warning against Gabriel’s ear. “The only  _ illiterate idiot _ in this room is _ you _ .” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel gasped out, “I-I’m sorry…”

“ _ Why _ a W?” Aziraphale pressed him, shaking him once by the fist tangled in his hair before letting him go with a rough little shove. “Explain its  _ significance _ to Crowley.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, hurried and breathless. “I-it’s because… I’m… it’s to… remind me of… of what I am.” 

Crowley felt sick. His heart ached with sorrow for the helpless suffering of the broken creature kneeling before him, and the last thing he wanted was to intensify that suffering. But Aziraphale was glaring down at Gabriel, his lips tightening with impatient displeasure. So Crowley reached out a hand to direct Gabriel’s gaze back toward him, pushing gently. 

“Right. So… what are you, then?” he asked with soft resignation, giving Aziraphale a baleful look over Gabriel’s shoulder. 

“Th-there are… four lines in a W,” Gabriel said, wincing a little as if expecting to get corrected for stating the obvious again. “So I don’t forget that I’m… weak.” He whispered the final word with shame, one finger rising to trace the scar that had been there for months. “I… surrender easily to the temptation to be prideful and selfish and… and  _ wicked _ .” Gabriel’s finger lifted slightly from the surface of his own skin, not quite touching the second line, freshly burned into his flesh. “I’m… wicked and sinful and… keep doing wrong, over and over.” 

Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale, who was punctuating Gabriel’s little speech with small nods of approval, his thumb stroking silent reassurance against Gabriel’s bare shoulder, as the humiliated archangel struggled to go on. 

“I’m… a w-worthless…” Gabriel traced just over the third line, and then the fourth, his head bowed, the words barely more than a breath. “... a worthless whore. I - offered myself to A-Aziraphale, and - to you, in exchange for… less pain, so - I - I deserve - w-whatever you choose to do to me.”

“You see?” Aziraphale said brightly. “I told you I wouldn’t add much. One little letter, that manages to say _ so much _ .” His hand lifted from Gabriel’s shoulder to cup his cheek instead from behind him, his tone soft and approving. “Well done, my dove.” 

Gabriel let out a deep, ragged breath in relief, closing his eyes and turning his face into Aziraphale’s hand. 

“One single letter,” Aziraphale continued. “Four little lines… so he doesn’t forget.” 

“There’s another line, though,” Crowley observed, his tone dark with disgust as his eyes fell on the mark once more. 

There was a fifth line, smaller than the others and horizontal, connecting the middle two lines of the W - and causing them to form a letter within the letter. A subtle message that most would miss. Should anyone happen to see Gabriel undressed, Crowley was certain they’d notice only the W - but Crowley saw much more. 

“That fifth mark.” Crowley cast a knowing gaze up at Aziraphale, his lip curled with revulsion. “What’s  _ that _ one for, angel?” 

Gabriel flinched, frowning, troubled, his lips parted to answer. Aziraphale pressed two fingers to his lips, and he fell obediently still and silent, waiting with Crowley for the answer. 

“Four marks to remind him what he is…” Aziraphale shifted to stand beside Gabriel instead of behind him, crouching down and turning his face toward him, waiting until he’d lifted weary, fearful eyes to his own, and directing his next words to Gabriel “... one mark to remind you what you’re not.” 

His eyes were narrowed and cold, his words dangerously soft. 

“Which is even remotely  _ worthy _ … of the blood of our brothers and sisters, should they come against me. If you forget this lesson, Gabriel… if you give them cause to rise to your defense… they will fall and bleed at my feet.” His tone lowered to a mesmerizing whisper, Gabriel’s horror-stricken eyes locked onto Aziraphale’s with dread. “ _ They will burn _ .” 

“ _ Please _ ,” Gabriel sobbed, even against the gentle press of Aziraphale’s fingers against his lips, and Crowley winced, closing his eyes, braced for retaliation. “No, I won’t, I won’t tell them anything, _ please _ …” 

Aziraphale tapped his two fingers lightly against Gabriel’s mouth in a gentle warning. Gabriel cringed, shaking his head slightly in wordless apology. Aziraphale did not punish him for the infraction, however. 

“I won’t,” he promised. “I  _ don’t want  _ to.” His tone was tender, sympathetic - implying that he cared as much for the safety of their Heavenly family as Gabriel did. 

Crowley knew that was not even close to true, even  _ without  _ taking in the cold, steely look in the angel’s eyes, the subtle hardening of his tone as he concluded. 

“As long as you  _ do as you are told _ .” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel wept, nodding desperately. “Yes, sir,  _ please _ …” 

Aziraphale nodded slowly, sliding his hand around to cup the back of Gabriel’s head gently for a moment, before withdrawing his hand and rising to his feet. 

“Go ahead,” he said to Crowley. “Heal him, so he can be on his way.” 

Gabriel went very still, his hands anxiously fidgeting together against his trembling knees, as he waited - for Crowley to heal him, or for some other unforeseen reason from Aziraphale as to why he shouldn’t, why Gabriel couldn’t go home yet - or perhaps, at all. 

Crowley reached out one hand to clasp Gabriel’s on his knee, extending the other to hover just over the mark, cupping it lightly, careful not to actually touch it - and reached out with his own power, letting it wash over Gabriel, to surround him, willing it to somehow wrap around him and protect him from Aziraphale’s malicious cruelty. 

The vicious words he’d forced Gabriel to repeat echoed in Crowley’s mind, and he shoved them forcefully out. 

_ It’s not true, he’s a liar, you’re not, you’re  _ not _ …  _

Crowley knew Gabriel couldn’t possibly know his thoughts, but he desperately hoped that he could feel his intent - could feel his sorrow and regret and genuine deep desire to somehow find a way to make this right again - to get him out of this. 

Crowley reached out with his own essence, and allowed it to draw the hellfire out of the burns, to heal them completely until all that remained was a deep red scar to match the one that had already been there. Gabriel drew Crowley’s hand up from his knee to his head, resting his brow against it, weeping too deeply, too breathlessly to speak. 

Crowley just stayed there with him, on his own knees, and held his hand. 

The sharp snap of Aziraphale’s fingers drew them both from the soft reverie, and Gabriel flinched hard, his trembling fingers clenching tight around Crowley’s hand in momentary panic. Crowley just squeezed them back, hoping to offer some meager reassurance in the face of whatever Aziraphale intended. 

All he’d done was produce a new, dress-attire outfit for Gabriel to wear - nice enough by Heaven’s standards, nothing  _ too _ fancy. A slate grey suit coat and pants, with a sky blue shirt and a tie in muted shades of both grey and blue, to match. 

Impressive, professional… but modest. 

Aziraphale’s hand reached out to gently push Gabriel’s hair back from his face, and the archangel obediently looked up at him, waiting expectantly for command. 

“Get dressed,” Aziraphale ordered softly. “So that you may go.” 

Gabriel clambered awkwardly to his feet, taking the garments and putting them on with less grace and poise than he might have formerly - but somehow he managed to get them all on correctly, and turned to stand facing Aziraphale, who had waited, expectantly watching the whole procedure. 

He stepped close to Gabriel now, reaching out to adjust his tie, smiling up into his eyes as he reached up to cup his cheek. Gabriel’s head was wearily bowed, his eyes red with tears and dull with exhaustion. He looked absolutely  _ drained _ of all life, all feeling. 

_ Shattered _ , under the force of Aziraphale’s will. 

“My little dove has learned some difficult lessons these past days, hasn’t he?” Aziraphale mused, knowing and rueful. 

Crowley seethed from a few feet away, his hand clenched into a fist at his side, as for the first time he had to resist the urge to move forward and step between them - not to stake some ridiculous jealous  _ claim _ on Aziraphale, but to intervene on  _ Gabriel’s  _ behalf. 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered with a slow, listless nod, eyes locked onto the floor at Aziraphale’s feet. 

“I know you’ve learned them well,” Aziraphale intoned, solemn and certain. “Go on, then. You may go.” 

Gabriel glanced up at him hesitantly, then nodded, and turned toward the door. 

“Oh, and Gabriel?” 

Crowley’s stomach lurched, and Gabriel froze with his hand on the door, as Aziraphale tossed a few casually cruel words over his shoulder, a parting blow. 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

****************************************************************************

Gabriel was back. 

The whispers had reached Michael’s ears very quickly - excited, anxious speculation as to where he’d been, and how he’d returned. Some had seemed surprised to hear that he’d been gone at all. The way in which he’d been hiding himself away recently made it far easier for him to disappear than it should  _ ever _ have been for a prominent archangel. Others had mentioned the way he was  _ dressed  _ when he’d returned - very much like his old self. 

_ Maybe he’s been away on a secret mission… _

_ Maybe he’s finally gotten it together…  _

_ Maybe he’s losing his mind…  _

Michael quashed the whispered rumors with stern severity wherever she found them, and secretly allowed herself a sense of tremendous relief - though not untouched by trepidation. She’d watched him vanish from his office, before her eyes, through his large glass window. 

Clearly, he’d changed his mind and wasn’t quite ready to talk. 

She had seen the pain and confusion in his eyes, sensed his desperation, his  _ deep longing _ to talk about whatever it was that was so troubling him. She knew  _ one thing _ , amongst a host of other confusing half-certainties and muddled questions. 

Her little brother needed her. 

And she had no intention of letting it go so easily, letting him slip back into the silent, lonely place he’d been the past few months, and lock them all out again. 

But… if he needed a little space, a little time… she could give him that before approaching him again and gently pressing the issue. 

And then… he didn’t come back. 

Not for two whole weeks. 

In terms of eternity, that was nothing. But… in terms of  _ Gabriel _ , who in years past had always been a prominent figure in Heaven’s society, rarely away for more than a few  _ hours _ at a time - two weeks was… rather a lot. Of course, he had every right to…  _ step away _ , for a bit, if he needed to. And she tried to be patient and to allow him the space he seemed to want. 

He was an archangel, after all. 

It scarcely seemed possible that he might be in any _ real _ danger. 

Still, it was… _ alarming, _ when she’d gently reached out into the ether, attempting to get some sense of his presence, some vague idea of where he might be - just to make sure he was all right - and had felt…  _ nothing _ . Gabriel didn’t seem to be in Heaven or on Earth, and that was when Michael really began to worry. 

She’d been considering her next steps. Sending angels out to search for him… attempting to call out to him across the ether… perhaps even a summoning ritual of some kind, to bring him home… 

… when he’d returned. 

She gave him a day - and then knocked on his office door. 

“Hello, Michael.” 

He greeted her with a bright smile that didn’t come anywhere near reaching his shadowed, tired eyes. 

The rumors were true - his clothing choices did seem to have returned to something resembling what he’d typically worn, though a bit more… subdued. Muted colors, duller shades. 

His  _ eyes  _ looked dull and muted too. Distant. 

“Did you need something?” he asked, quiet and calm. 

She blinked at him, incredulous. “Gabriel, you just…  _ disappeared _ . Are you all right? We’ve been so worried.” 

Gabriel cast a long, pointed glance past her down the hall, before meeting her eyes with a wry smile. “ _ All _ of you, huh? Yeah, I can see how worried... _ everyone’s  _ been.” 

His tone was light, teasing - but the heaviness behind his smile was telling. 

Michael decided uneasily to keep to herself for the moment the suspicions she’d heard whispered in Heaven’s halls during his absence. He’d been acting so strangely just prior to his disappearance, and it seemed nearly everyone had some sort of theory as to why. Perhaps he’d been involved in some sort of shady dealings with Hell that had ended up getting him captured or killed. Perhaps his strange behavior was a sign that he’d been hiding some dark, sinful secret. Perhaps he was  _ never _ coming back. Perhaps he’d Fallen. Perhaps he’d lost his mind and was off living in a cave somewhere as a human. 

Sandalphon had a particularly disturbing theory involving the traitors. 

Michael dutifully shut down each and every rumor, the moment she heard them. Still, she was troubled to hear them at all, and knew better than to think that a command to silence would prevent the lingering suspicions in the minds of certain angels. 

And… if Gabriel continued to be evasive, or… or  _ absent _ … 

“ _ Believe me _ ,” she urged him softly. “It’s _ not  _ just me. Everyone’s been wondering, and... hoping you were all right.” 

“I’m all right,” he assured her immediately. “Promise.” 

But… he clearly wasn’t. 

One good look at him was all it took to tell Michael that something was  _ ver _ y wrong. 

His eyes kept darting away from hers, avoiding contact - but when she did manage to catch his gaze, there was a heavy, haunted look there that set a stone in the pit of her stomach. He seemed… anxious and fidgety. 

She’d been there five minutes, and he’d already checked his watch three times. 

And somehow, impossibly, he looked…  _ thinner _ . 

Angels didn’t need sustenance or rest to maintain their corporations. And yet, Gabriel looked somehow smaller… weaker. 

Unwell. 

“Gabriel,” she tried again, gentle, reaching out a careful hand to touch his wrist - disappointed when he snatched it away, lowering it to his side, encircling it with his free hand as if she’d burned him.

“I’m  _ fine _ , Michael,” Gabriel insisted, with a soft laugh, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Look, I - I’ve been going through something. Yeah. Since…” His voice trailed off, and he sighed, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes. “I… got a little lost. But I’m figuring it out.” 

“And… where you’ve been the past two weeks?” she asked, careful not to sound accusing. “That… was a part of figuring it out?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Gabriel conceded with a slow, thoughtful nod. “I… I needed a minute. Okay? I needed to… get away for a little while, and… think about things. I’ve been… studying the humans,” he admitted. “Trying to learn… why they were spared. Why we were wrong.” 

Michael considered that explanation for a moment. It did make sense. Except… 

“I tried to reach out to you,” she said. “I… couldn’t sense your presence. Not  _ anywhere _ .” 

Gabriel winced, lifting a hand to the back of his head, looking up at her through lowered eyes. 

“Yeah, I... didn’t want you to,” he admitted, apologetic. “Didn’t want anyone to. I needed to be by myself.” 

Michael frowned. “How did you…?” 

“Look, it’s okay,” Gabriel interrupted, giving her a warm smile. “ _ I’m _ okay.” He hesitated, a slight frown creasing his brow as he added, cautious, “I can’t promise I won’t need to… take a little time, again. Soon. Maybe… often, for a while. Just while I’m figuring this all out. While I’m… learning. But… I’m feeling better, Michael. I’m… I’m on the right track, I think.” 

He sounded weary and a little sad, but more open and expressive than she’d heard him in months. There was a certain reassurance in his tired smile, as he held her gaze. “I know there’s a lot about the way I’ve been… a lot that I’m pretty sure I got wrong, all these centuries. And… I might be changing some things. But… I’m gonna be what Heaven needs again, you don’t have to worry,” he assured her with a wry smile. “I’m gonna walk the walk, and talk the talk, and… dress in a way that won’t alarm the baby angels. Does that work for you?” 

Michael frowned, vaguely troubled by his tone, as well as the implication of his words. “Fair enough,” she agreed. “I’m not really worried about all that. I don’t care how you dress, not really.” 

Gabriel blinked, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. “Changed your mind in the last couple weeks?” 

“Gabriel, I’m concerned about  _ you _ ,” Michael insisted. “Before you left, we - we were going to talk. I came to your office, but… you were just leaving, and… I’d still like to hear about the things that have been troubling you…” 

“I’m not troubled. I’m fine.” Gabriel cut her off firmly, his smile fading, and visibly, his patience as well. 

“But…” 

“Michael, I’m sorry. I’m… just getting back. Trying to get settled in again, and caught up. If you could give me a little while…” 

She frowned. “Okay,” she reluctantly agreed. “Just… if you’d still like to talk…”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“Gabriel…” 

Michael found her protest cut off abruptly as he shut the door - quietly, but firmly - and shut her out. 

She stood there in bewildered, stunned silence for a long moment, staring at what little bit of him she could see through the glass to the side of the door - his right hand hanging at his side. She noticed with alarm that he was visibly shaking. After a moment he lifted his hand, resting it against the window for a moment - then slowly closing it into a tightly clenched fist, braced against the glass, as if he was leaning there, resting his weight against the door just beyond her view. 

Then Gabriel lifted his hand and passed it once across the window - and all at once, Michael couldn’t see it anymore. She frowned, puzzled - then realized with a shock of dismay what had happened. 

Gabriel had put the obscuring spell back in place, concealing himself from Heaven - and from her - once again. 

No matter how desperately she wanted to, Michael couldn’t see Gabriel - or reach him - anymore. 


	27. Chapter 27

Here's another beautiful thematic piece for this story - I absolutely LOVE it - by the amazingly talented UnearthedDawn <3 <3 <3 

Such a mood captured by this piece, I find it just absolutely haunting and beautiful <3 

Okay... onto this week's dose of suffering... Enjoy! ;) 

Gabriel disappeared beyond the closing bookshop door, and a tense, awkward silence descended. 

Crowley studied Aziraphale warily, but Aziraphale’s attention was focused unhappily on the window nearest the door, and the street beyond - although Gabriel was no longer anywhere in sight.

“Well,” he sighed. “I’m not at all certain _that_ was a good idea.” 

Crowley arched a brow. “It wasn’t,” he declared flatly. “Not a single bit of it.” 

Aziraphale gave him a dark, dubious look. “I meant letting him go.” 

Crowley blinked at him, disbelieving - and then let out a slow, scoffing sound. “ _Of course_ you did.” 

“For our safety, Crowley, that’s all,” Aziraphale insisted, turning to face Crowley with urgency. “As I said, he only very recently, very nearly told Michael everything.” 

“ _Nearly_ told her,” Crowley echoed, frowning. “What does that mean? Why nearly? How do you even know?” 

Aziraphale looked away, visibly flustered. “Well, because he… he decided against it,” he admitted. “He came here, instead.” He looked back up at Crowley, his chin lifted in subtle defiance of Crowley’s disapproval. “Confessed to me himself, Crowley. He had _every intention_ of telling her.” 

“And yet he didn’t,” Crowley pointed out softly, a dull ache in his chest as he took in the implications of Aziraphale’s story, if it could be believed - and Crowley was fairly certain that it could be. 

If Aziraphale was going to make up a lie, he’d most likely have made up a better one than this. Or… a much worse one. One Crowley could have easily detected as a lie. This had the sound of a horrible truth Crowley had been trying very hard for a very long time not to believe. 

“He planned to tell Michael - but he came here and told _you_ , instead. Of his own free will. _Knowing_ you’d punish him, angel.” 

There was a brief flash of something across Aziraphale’s face - something too self-serving and calculating to be called _guilt,_ exactly - but perhaps a sense of being caught in something for which he certainly _should_ have felt guilty. His lips parted to speak, but he said nothing, instead closing his mouth again and glaring at Crowley in stubborn insistence. 

“That’s the sort of behavior I’d think you’d want to encourage. _Reward_ the archangel for changing his mind, for coming to you, not - not _this_ !” Crowley shook his head slowly, feeling sick at the vivid memory of Gabriel’s injuries, seared and sliced into his flesh - his legs beaten black and blue, his back shredded by the whip. “He nearly lost his bloody _hands_ , angel. He could barely stand.” 

Aziraphale sighed, infuriatingly patient. “Crowley, you know full well I cannot tolerate his even _considering_ either striking out at me… or running off telling tales to Michael.”

“So…” Crowley closed his eyes, holding up a halting hand. “... what you’re saying is that - angel, do you even _hear_ yourself?” A bitter huff of laughter escaped his lips as he shook his head. “You _have_ to torture him. Otherwise he might _go tell Michael_ that _you’re torturing him_.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley, you know very well we can’t just-”

“No one’s coming for him…” Crowley wasn’t anywhere near finished. “... no one cares enough… except, _if_ he told Michael, she’d bring the _whole host of Heaven_ against us. Which is it, angel?” he demanded. “You’re talking in circles.” He shook his head, disgusted, a sense of alarm building, tightening in his chest. “Got him all tied up in them. But if he even for _one second_ catches a _glimmer_ of these - these _contradictions,_ angel…” 

Crowley realized even as he spoke, though - the contradictions didn’t really matter. 

Gabriel hung on Aziraphale’s every word, drinking in his lies like gospel. 

“I’m merely doing what I must to keep him under control, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, his tone quietly urgent as he took a hesitant step nearer to Crowley. “And… unfortunately the most _effective_ methods are… quite unpleasant.” 

“Like the cane?” 

Aziraphale blinked, then swallowed slowly. He looked away, but his jaw set, subtly stubborn. 

“I warned you how dangerous that was,” Crowley reminded him. 

_When_ you gave it to him. _Complete with hellfire in the tip._

_Just in case that wrecked, terrified creature he kept in that room on his knees for_ two fucking weeks _decided to_ fight back. 

Crowley felt sick with shame at what he’d allowed to happen - what he should have seen coming, after centuries of experience with the power dynamics of Hell - centuries of seeing it demonstrated over and over again. Given the means to subjugate another without consequence - most would eventually make use of it - with different weapons, different details, different creatures in the same horrifying roles, but still... a simple and terrible truth. 

If you gave someone a bloody _hellfire-tipped cane_ … sooner or later, _somebody_ was getting fucked with it. 

“You could have killed him,” Crowley insisted, trying to keep the shame from his voice and focus on the accusation instead - though it was an effort to make himself lift his eyes to Aziraphale’s cool, carefully composed face. 

“I didn’t.” 

Crowley shook his head slowly, disbelieving. “You think it’s somehow better because you used the cane instead of fucking him yourself?” he demanded. “And for the fucking record, I am _not at all_ convinced you haven’t done that too!” 

Aziraphale’s lips parted to protest - and then, he stopped. 

A cold, sinking feeling settled in Crowley’s stomach as Aziraphale’s jaw set, and his shoulders squared. 

“I’m not quite myself when you’re not here, Crowley,” he stated, soft and measured. “I can be… overly forceful. Lose my patience. And, yes… cross lines I would not otherwise cross. I’ve hurt Gabriel a great deal more than has been strictly necessary, I’ll admit. Crowley, I _need_ you to…” 

“If you _need_ me to keep you from _accidentally raping_ someone, because you just… _cannot control yourself_ , well…” Crowley made no attempt to disguise the revulsion he felt. “... then you’re _beyond_ my help, angel. Beyond _any_ help.” 

Aziraphale at least had enough shame remaining to look away, swallowing. “You weren’t there. You… didn’t know him, Crowley, how he… how I was treated…” 

“ _Stop_ .” The single word was soft and weary, but touched with enough conviction to silence the fumbling principality. “It’s not the same. It’s too much. Angel, I wasn’t _there_ exactly... but you used to come to me after. You told me the things he did and said to you, and I thought he was an absolute monster.” Crowley swallowed, his mouth dry, his throat aching. “Until now.” 

Aziraphale flinched, visibly wounded. “Crowley…”

“ _No_ ,” Crowley cut him off firmly. “It’s too much. Put downs, public embarrassment - even the occasional gut punch - none of that gives you a free pass to _rape_ him. This whole past two weeks… _everything_ you’ve done to him thus far, angel… it’s _far_ too much.” 

“All right,” Aziraphale conceded, his voice trembling and anxious. “Perhaps I got a bit… carried away…” 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Crowley muttered darkly. 

He remembered when Aziraphale getting “carried away” meant cheering too loudly at a show, or having an extra dessert or three. 

He felt sick. 

Crowley shook his head, turning away from Aziraphale, toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale demanded, high and panicked, stepping into Crowley’s path. “Are you leaving?” 

Crowley compensated for the anxious lurch of his stomach, the swift acceleration of his heart rate, with a furious, challenging glare. 

“And if I was? You’d - what? Stop me? Chain me up, like you did him?” 

Aziraphale drew in a sharp, offended breath, meeting Crowley’s glare with wide, wounded eyes. “Of course not, Crowley, I’d _never_ ...” he gasped. He took a moment to compose himself, then continued, quiet and measured, “I’d never keep you here against your will. If you left, I suppose I’d… call Gabriel back. Find a way to pass the time with _him_.” 

Crowley stared at him with rising disbelief at the challenge in his eyes - calculated and cold, watching Crowley for his reaction as he went on. 

“His entire body is whole now, as you wished. He’d put the cuffs on at my command.” He shrugged a little, falsely musing. “Now we know: it would take them _weeks_ to do the sort of damage you just healed away.” 

Crowley barely recognized the angel before him, coolly manipulative, cruelly clever. He kept his voice low to disguise the tremor underlying his words. 

“So… you _are_ forcing me to stay, then.” 

Aziraphale swallowed hard, his cool demeanor faltering, a trace of uncertainty in his eyes. “No, Crowley,” he insisted softly. “I - I _want_ you to stay. I’d - do nearly anything I thought might _convince_ you to stay.” 

“Except just let him go,” Crowley pointed out, with quiet hurt and frustration. “Except just… let _all_ of this _go_ …”

“I cannot simply _stop_ monitoring Gabriel,” Aziraphale insisted. “I cannot just… let him go, entirely. And I hope that… if you’ll stay here, with me, for now… in time, you’ll come to understand…”

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Crowley’s stomach at those words, and the various potential interpretations for them. He wasn’t quite sure what lengths Aziraphale might go to, to “convince” him to understand. He had no intention of just walking away - not as long as Aziraphale had Gabriel at his mercy. 

Still, having it said aloud like this, put into words and sent out into the air between them - it felt like the gates of a prison swinging shut before him, locking and removing all opportunity of escape. 

_You’ll find a way. For both you and Gabriel. It’s not forever…_

“I’ll stay,” he conceded quietly. “But whenever he’s here, whatever you do… it _stays_ here.” Even as he spoke the words, Crowley knew better than to think it was remotely true; Gabriel bore scars that Crowley couldn’t begin to touch, no matter how hard he tried. Still, he insisted, “I heal him before he leaves.” 

Aziraphale hesitated a single, disconcerting moment before replying. “Done.” 

“And he gets a break. You won’t call him for a while. At least a week.”

Aziraphale frowned. “If I give him too much time away just now, when he feels as if he’s escaped - as if he’s gotten away with something - then that’s all the more chance that he’ll tell Michael…”

“He won’t be telling Michael anything,” Crowley stated firmly. “He’s too afraid for her life to do that, angel. Because _he_ still seems to have a moral compass to rely on.” 

He turned away from the door and toward the stairs, catching a grimly satisfying glimpse of Aziraphale’s wounded expression before his back was fully turned. He hadn’t quite reached the stairs, when Aziraphale’s sharp words stopped him - touched with a shrill, frantic edge. 

“As if _you’re_ one to judge my actions.” 

Crowley froze, his hand clenching tight around the bannister, a smoldering heat of outrage building in his chest. He drew a breath, carefully maintaining control as he turned to face Aziraphale again, a single brow raised, a bitter smile on his lips. 

“I’m not?” 

“Some recent moral advice you’ve given me, if I recall, involved the benefits of child murder, I believe?” Aziraphale’s tone was accusing, but his voice was trembling, desperate; he was grasping at straws. “Had I taken that advice, I’d have ended the life of the child who just saved the world.” 

Crowley nodded once, thoughtfully, taking in that argument, before reminding him, “You _did_ take my advice. I seem to recall _mutual_ encouragement of child murder.” He was quiet a moment, his smile touched with a triumph that left him feeling hollow and bereft. “Only one of us actually _tried_ it.” 

Aziraphale let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head and waving one unsteady hand in a dismissive gesture, “Anyway, that’s an irrelevant example…”

“You brought it up.” 

“Gabriel is _not_ an innocent child, Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped, an undercurrent of rage vibrating beneath his words. “He _deserves_ to be punished!” 

“And you deserve to be the one to punish him?” Crowley challenged, holding his gaze. “To decide _how much_ he deserves - how far it should go?” He shook his head, looking away before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes again, anguished and sorrowful. “This is more than _anyone_ deserves.”

“I’m just saying…” Aziraphale was softer, subdued, still stubborn, with an edge of accusation. “I’m not sure you’re the one to determine that.” 

“And yet you need me here, for the purpose of restraining your cruelty. You don’t know what you’d do without me.” Crowley paused, turning halfway on the stairs, giving Aziraphale a sad, knowing smile. “Perhaps abuse a helpless creature under your power. Perhaps _not_ attempt to shoot children,” he suggested, and Aziraphale winced. “Which is it, angel?” Crowley asked, quiet and pointed. “I _tempt_ you to evil… or I _keep_ you from it?” 

Aziraphale’s troubled frown deepened, and he shook his head, sputtering. 

“Still talking in circles,” Crowley observed, not waiting for him to find more words with which to do so, before turning away. 

_And I won’t be caught up in them. Not anymore._

“Crowley, I’m sorry, but you just don’t understand. Gabriel is simply not deserving of the sort of… compassion and respect you seem to deem him worthy of…” 

Crowley stopped on the second step, without turning. “And me? Am I deserving of respect?” 

“Of course you are!” Aziraphale was incredulous. 

Crowley half-turned on the stairs, watching Aziraphale’s face as he continued, quiet and carefully even. “And yet you put me to sleep, against my will. I _begged_ you not to - and you still did.”

Aziraphale frowned, his tone softening. “ _Crowley_ …”

Crowley held up a hand to stop him, taking a moment to gather his words before going on. “You’ve compelled me to sleep. You suggested altering Anathema’s mind and memories when they didn’t suit you.” He was quiet, swallowing hard. “Have you done the same to me, already?”

Wide-eyed, aghast, Aziraphale shook his head, moving nearer to the steps. “Crowley, _no_!” 

“How could I know?” Crowley persisted. “How do I know I’m not staying with you _right now_ ... because you’ve... _convinced_ me to?” 

Aziraphale closed the remaining distance between them, anguished, reaching out a faltering hand toward Crowley’s - and then closing it around the bannister near it, instead. 

“Darling, I would _never_ ,” he insisted, fervent, gazing up into Crowley’s eyes, intent and earnest. “I want you here with me, yes… but I want you to be here because you _want_ to be. Because - because you _love_ me.” He lowered his gaze, his words coming out soft and sad. “I know I can’t force that. I wouldn’t try to.”

“Except that’s exactly what you’re doing.” Crowley pointed out. “You know I don’t want to be here, but still you’re trying to keep me here…” 

Aziraphale winced, his expression anguished. “Yes, Crowley. I’m doing what I can to ensure that you stay with me… because I hope that in time you can… can come to understand, and… accept the way things are. But I would _never, ever_ alter your mind, my love.” 

Crowley was quiet, swallowing back the ache in the back of his throat. His eyes burned with tears, his words coming out hoarse and desolate. 

“I can’t know that, anymore.”

“I swear to you, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, stepping in as close as he could to the base of the stairs without ascending them. “I will never do such a thing to you - even so little as to help you rest, again - without your express consent.” 

“Best not,” Crowley retorted, his words soft but warning. “That wasn’t _helping_ me do _anything_ . That was fucked up. I told you to stop.” He paused a moment. “If you ever do anything like that again, angel - I’d leave so fast. _Nothing_ could make me stay.” 

He meant it. He wanted to help Gabriel - but once Aziraphale started fucking about in his brain, well - there would be little chance left of that. 

A chill passed down Crowley’s spine at the sad, knowing little smile that crossed Aziraphale’s lips, and the realization of the knowledge they both had: if Aziraphale started fucking about in Crowley’s brain - Crowley wouldn’t leave. 

He wouldn’t realize he’d ever wanted to. 

“I promise you, my love,” Aziraphale insisted, stepping up onto the bottom stair - less than a foot of space left between them. “I won’t. Not ever.” 

Crowley nodded once, firmly. “Good.” 

Aziraphale lifted hopeful eyes to his. “And you’ll stay?” 

Crowley shut that hopeful gaze out, closing his own eyes. “Yes,” he whispered. 

“Oh, thank you darling, yes, yes, _anything_ you want, my love…”

Aziraphale lifted up on his toes, sliding his hand up the bannister toward Crowley’s. 

The moment it made contact, Crowley jerked away. 

Aziraphale looked wounded, but withdrew his hand, giving Crowley a questioning look as he backed a couple of steps up the stairs. 

“I’m staying,” he conceded, hoarse and tearful, and angry at his own tears. “Doesn’t mean you get to touch me.” 

He left Aziraphale there on the stairs and retreated to the upstairs apartment. 

There was a dark, heavy tension between them for the next several days. Crowley’s suspicions had been more or less accurate: Aziraphale seemed unwilling to give him more than a few minutes alone at any given time. Again and again, Aziraphale tried to get close to Crowley, repeatedly attempting to initiate conversation. Crowley gave him the briefest answers he could - mumbled, noncommittal words from as far away as possible. If Aziraphale ventured too near, standing or sitting close to Crowley, Crowley moved away. 

_Don’t touch me,_ he did his best to express with glares and mutters and pointed body language. _I am here against my will._

Aziraphale was sweet and coaxing, lavish with verbal affection - but the pet names that used to warm Crowley’s heart now rankled under his skin. And as the hours wore on, Crowley’s restless frustration was steadily matched by Aziraphale’s terse impatience, a taut, trembling anger taking up residence beneath the surface of his soft, patient words. 

Four days after Gabriel had left the bookshop, Aziraphale approached the sofa where Crowley was sprawled playing on his phone - a book in one hand and a mug of cocoa in the other. He sat down not _quite_ at the far end of the sofa - close enough to reach out and touch, if he’d dared. 

Crowley had no intention of giving him the chance. 

He got up without a word, without waiting for one, and went to the bedroom. 

He knew Aziraphale would not follow there. It was technically Aziraphale’s bedroom - though he never used it when Crowley wasn’t there, and rarely used it to _actually sleep_ , anyway. There was a suggestion of expectation that came with his entering the bedroom after Crowley - and for these past few days, Aziraphale had appeared to know better than to suggest _any such thing_. 

He did not follow Crowley into the bedroom, and Crowley enjoyed the relative peace and privacy. 

For about twenty minutes, until he heard the sound of the bell over the bookshop door. 

He frowned, getting up from the bed and returning to the living room to find it empty; but he could hear footsteps on the stairs - more than one set, though they were nearly indistinguishable, rapid, stumbling, and erratic. 

The apartment door burst open, and Gabriel stumbled inside. Aziraphale was just behind him, gripping the collar of his suit and propelling him roughly along. Once they reached the living room, Aziraphale shoved Gabriel forcefully down to the floor. The archangel was already wearing the hellfire cuffs - shaking, bewildered and terrified, bringing his arms up over his head as if expecting a blow. 

As Crowley’s indignation rose, Aziraphale crouched down next to Gabriel, seizing his hair and jerking his head back. He leaned in close, speaking low and soft against his ear - and Gabriel’s trembling hands came down, twitching, halting as he fought his instinct to keep them up, to shield himself from Aziraphale’s wrath. 

Apparently, that was _not allowed_. 

“Angel, what are you doing?” Crowley demanded. “You said a week.” 

“ _You_ said a week,” Aziraphale snapped. “I don’t _trust_ him that far right now.” 

“Please,” Gabriel gasped out, wide, wild eyes darting between the two of them before settling on Aziraphale, pleading, “I’ve done everything you said, I’ve been o-obedient…”

“Conveniently, in Heaven, when you’re out of my sight,” Aziraphale sneered. “You’ll forgive me if I find that _suspect_ … as here, you seem incapable of remembering the most basic of rules.” He stood up straight, and lashed out with a vicious slap across Gabriel’s face, then caught his jaw with fierce, bruising fingers, digging into his face as he leaned in and snarled, low and warning, “ _Shut up_.” 

Gabriel nodded as best he could in Aziraphale’s grasp, eyes closed. 

“Aziraphale, stop this,” Crowley insisted, taking a step nearer. “He hasn’t done anything.” 

Aziraphale completely ignored him, his attention fully focused on the trembling archangel. 

“Get up.” 

Gabriel struggled to obey, pulling himself up on shaking, unsteady limbs, his breath rapid and erratic. He stood facing Aziraphale, his shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around his torso, as if he hardly dared to be taller than the principality. 

“I show you mercy… send you home to Heaven… and you just forget _everything_ you’ve learned, don’t you?” Aziraphale berated him, moving in close, smiling up into Gabriel’s eyes. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Shoulders quaking, Gabriel shook his head, bewildered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry, sir…” 

Crowley cringed, biting back the urge to tell Gabriel to just be quiet, just stop talking, that he was only making this all so much worse. If Gabriel would just stop drawing attention to himself, if _Crowley_ could only _talk to Aziraphale_ , talk him into keeping his half of the agreement and letting Gabriel go again…

Aziraphale backhanded Gabriel and sent him stumbling backward into an overstuffed shelf loaded with old papers and dusty knickknacks. Aziraphale caught his collar with one hand and jerked him away from it before he could topple it to the floor, snapping the fingers of his free hand to steady the rocking piece of furniture before hauling Gabriel in close, harsh fingers at the back of his neck bearing down and forcing his head low. 

“Do not make me tell you again. _Shut your mouth_ , dove.” 

Gabriel nodded, biting his lip, tears flowing from behind tightly closed eyelids. 

Aziraphale let him go, taking a step back to examine his immaculate suit with a disgusted expression. 

“Take that off.” 

“Y-yes, sir.” Gabriel barely dared breathe the words, nodding hurriedly, obeying with shaking hands. 

Aziraphale backed off at last, going to the sofa and sitting down, arms crossed as he watched Gabriel with hostile, critical eyes just _waiting_ for another mistake. 

Crowley slowly, carefully sat down beside him, turning sideways to face him, though Aziraphale pointedly ignored him, his gaze laser-focused on Gabriel. 

“Angel… angel, look at me,” Crowley pleaded. “ _Aziraphale_. You said…”

Aziraphale cut him off sharply, his cold smile never leaving Gabriel as he finished taking off his clothes. “Oh, so _now_ you wish to speak to me.” 

Crowley’s stomach dropped. “Aziraphale…” 

Gabriel glanced around anxiously, as if for a place to set his neatly folded clothing. Finding none, he clasped the stack against his bare chest, practically wilting, breath quickening with panic as Aziraphale rose and swiftly approached him. He took an instinctive step back, nearly hitting the shelf a second time - but Aziraphale reached him first, placing a firm hand against his back and guiding him back in the other direction. 

“Careful,” he said, his voice soft but tight with menace as he plucked the folded clothing from Gabriel’s arms, snapping his fingers to remove them to parts unknown, then shifting in closer, his words low and warning. “You don’t attempt to evade me. Do you?” 

Gabriel winced at his mistake and shook his head. “No, sir,” he whispered, lips parted for an apology that he quickly stifled, repeating instead, “No, sir…”

Aziraphale’s hand slid up Gabriel’s back slowly, his head tilting low to better take in the archangel’s panicked expression, as he shuddered and shook his head just a little, but didn’t dare pull away. 

Crowley rose to his feet, his heart racing with alarm, eyes fixed on the place where Aziraphale touched the archangel. 

“Angel… _don’t_ …”

Aziraphale ignored him, but his hand stilled just over the place where Gabriel’s wings would have emerged - and Crowley froze. Aziraphale’s smile broadened slightly with satisfied approval, his attention still fully focused on his captive.

“It’s time for you to be of service, isn’t it, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel nodded miserably, head bowed, his whole body trembling. 

Aziraphale roughly grasped his arm and turned him to face the shelf. “You’re to clean this,” he commanded. “This, and every other shelf in this room. You will carefully remove the items upon them, dust the shelves, and replace the items where you found them. Do you think you can manage that?” 

Gabriel nodded, glancing up at the shelf. “Y-yes, sir.” 

“Just like last time,” Aziraphale said softly, lifting his hand to play gently through Gabriel’s hair. “Only this time… you’ll do it _properly_ , won’t you?” 

Gabriel winced, drawing in a shuddering sob and nodding eagerly. “Yes, sir… _please_ , sir…”

“Now, none of that, my dear,” Aziraphale said, falsely soothing as his hand slid from Gabriel’s hair to rest lightly against his lips, the other hand reaching out to take Gabriel’s hand. His thumb slid gently over the back, then turned it over and brushed across his palm. He took Gabriel’s other hand in the same way, gently stroking as he gazed down, his words very soft. 

“You will be quiet and obedient, as you have learned to be. And if you by chance should damage any of my things, my dove…” He looked up, catching Gabriel’s wide, fearful gaze with a cruel, soft smile. “... I’ll have you kneel at my feet… and I’ll crush these clumsy fingers under my heel until they _truly are_ useless. Do you understand?” 

Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. It was a dreadfully _specific_ threat - one he had little question that Aziraphale would have no problem whatsoever carrying out. It made his heart race, his stomach turning at the thought. 

Gabriel flinched, his hands jerking a little, but he didn’t pull away. He swallowed hard, nodding shakily.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, barely over a breath. 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley ventured, taking a cautious step toward them. “Angel, please…”

Aziraphale did not look at him as he viciously bent Gabriel’s hands backward, eliciting a pleading, wordless whimper from him, and causing Crowley to stop where he was. Aziraphale eased his grip once it had achieved his desired result, gently rubbing his thumbs over Gabriel’s palms again as he soothed him. 

“Shh, it’s all right. I know you aren’t going to disappoint me again. Are you?”

Gabriel shook his head. Aziraphale’s smile faded, and he hurriedly added a tearful whisper. 

“No, sir.” 

Aziraphale let go of Gabriel at last. He snapped his fingers, and Gabriel’s hands fumbled with surprise as he found them all at once holding a cleaning cloth and canister of furniture polish. He found his grip on them swiftly, knuckles white as he held onto them tightly. 

Aziraphale smiled and snapped again. 

The stool from his bookshop appeared next to Gabriel - the one Crowley had seen Aziraphale use countless times for work that involved retrieving and replacing items from high shelves - though he didn’t think there were any shelves in this particular room that Gabriel would be unable to reach on his own. 

Gabriel just _fell apart_ at the sight of the thing. 

He dropped the canister and the cloth, falling to his knees, sobbing, shaking. Immediately he scrambled to collect the items he’d let fall, gathering them with unsteady hands and placing them directly in front of his bare knees, then lifting a finger to his lips - shaking so violently that it barely made contact. 

Aziraphale crouched down facing him, cupping the back of his head with one hand, the other closing around Gabriel’s finger and drawing it firmly down. He spoke softly, overly patient. 

“Are you asking permission to speak... simply to plead for mercy?” 

Gabriel seemed to consider the question, then admitted with a despairing sob, “Yes, sir.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, his words hard and pitiless. “Permission denied. Get up and do as you were told.” 

He rose to his feet, towering over Gabriel as the archangel stumbled and struggled, trying to somehow hold onto the items he’d been given and get to his feet at the same time - unable to gain the balance to do so with his hands occupied. 

Aziraphale kicked him in the ribs with an impatient snarl. 

“ _Get up!_ ” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel sobbed, struggling to obey. “Yes, sir… yes, sir…” 

“He’s _trying_ , angel…” Crowley couldn’t help taking a few steps closer. 

Aziraphale didn’t even seem to notice.

“You _stupid, useless_ oaf,” he seethed with frustration, slapping the items out of Gabriel’s hands - then slapping his face hard, a fierce, ringing blow, as he shouted, “ _I said get up!_ ” 

Crowley reached him and reached out a faltering hand to touch his arm. “Angel…” 

Aziraphale jerked away from him, casting a warning glare in his direction - but Crowley tried again, pressing his fingers into Aziraphale’s clenched and shaking fist. Pushing slowly in until he’d unclenched it… until he was clasping Aziraphale’s hand. 

“... angel, _please_ …” 

Aziraphale spun to face him then, so abruptly that Crowley flinched slightly - but his eyes were glittering with tears, his expression hurt and accusing. 

“This is what it takes to get you to _touch_ me?” 

Crowley glanced down at Gabriel, who had frozen where he was, his arms wrapped around his body, staring up at them in confusion and dread - a red mark high on his cheek that would surely bloom into a dark bruise later. Crowley returned his gaze to Aziraphale. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Angel, I - I’ve been angry, but… this is my fault. I - I shouldn’t have shut you out. Please, let me - let me fix this.” 

As he spoke, he lifted his free hand to rest at Aziraphale’s side, gently, insistently tugging him in. He felt sick as Aziraphale moved closer to him, a wary hopefulness in his eyes.

But… Crowley had done this before. 

Desperation was a frequent state in Hell, and many times over he’d traded flirtation, submission, and _more_ for something he needed. Like access to something or someone who could help him do his job and _not_ get sentenced to torture for weeks or months of Earth time… like the silence of someone who’d caught him in suspicious circumstances, and demanded such favors in exchange. 

Like simply… _not being hurt._

Crowley had learned long ago that he could often avoid the pain and brutality of being forced by simply… _offering_ , instead. 

He was offering now, in exchange for _someone else_ not being hurt. 

Someone who had already been hurt, so much - because of him. 

“Please,” Crowley persisted, soft and coaxing. “Let’s just… go in our room for a little while, yeah? I know I can help you… relax. Help calm you down…” 

“ _Crowley_ .” Aziraphale’s voice was tearful, reproachful. “You can barely stand to _look_ at me.” 

“No, that’s… that’s not true,” Crowley lied, forcing himself to meet Aziraphale’s gaze dead on. “I’ve been angry, yeah,” he admitted. “And… I’m not gonna lie and say I _like_ any of this, but…” He swallowed hard, glancing down to steady himself before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes again. “I _do miss_ you, angel.” 

Aziraphale studied his face closely, and Crowley held his gaze, willing himself not to falter, or to pull away when Aziraphale squeezed his hand. His voice was small, anxious and uncertain. 

“You do?” 

“Yes,” Crowley affirmed, and it wasn’t quite a lie. “I - I just… hate that it’s like this between us, right now. We haven’t… haven’t been together in…” He hesitated, pushing the words out, even as a gaping chasm seemed to open, dark and empty in his chest. “I want to be with you, angel.” 

Aziraphale watched him closely, still uncertain - and beyond him, Crowley saw dawning realization in Gabriel’s eyes, and a rising sense of _horror_. The archangel silently, emphatically shook his head, his message clear in his stricken, disbelieving eyes. 

_No… don’t do this, not for me…_

It wasn’t exactly an even exchange, Crowley reminded himself. He was definitely getting off far easier than Gabriel would have, he knew. 

Aziraphale didn’t _enjoy hurting_ Crowley. 

And… Crowley would have _actually deserved it_ , if he had. 

Crowley ignored the archangel’s silent, desperate attempts to communicate with him behind Aziraphale’s back, focusing intently on Aziraphale instead, holding his attention with everything he had. 

“Please, angel,” he coaxed him, taking a step back and tugging on Aziraphale’s hand, pulling him toward the bedroom. “Please just… leave him alone, and come with me…” 

Aziraphale hesitated - then pulled Crowley back toward him. Crowley resisted the urge to withdraw, to twist his hand free of Aziraphale’s, to wriggle out from under the unwelcome slide of Aziraphale’s free hand on his waist. 

To recoil from the familiar warmth and intensity of the angel’s kiss. 

Crowley made his mouth relax, going soft and pliant under Aziraphale’s advance, lifting his own trembling hand to encourage Aziraphale closer to him. At last Aziraphale drew back, studying him with a bewildered, apprehensive gaze. 

“ _Really_?” he whispered. 

Crowley swallowed back his nausea, nodding and offering a soft, hesitant smile. 

“Really,” he whispered back. 

“All right,” Aziraphale agreed finally, sounding hopeful and a little lost. “Just… give me a moment, love, I’ll be right in…”

Crowley frowned, apprehension swelling up within him. 

Before he could protest, Aziraphale swiftly reassured him, “I’m not going to hurt him. If I did, you’d know it, yes? After?” 

Crowley glanced uncertainly down at Gabriel, whose gaze had locked onto the floor the moment he became the topic of the conversation again. Crowley remembered their agreement, that he would be allowed to heal Gabriel… every time. 

_Aziraphale’s trying to please you, right now. He won’t take it too far…_

“I’m only going to give him instructions,” Aziraphale insisted. “Make sure he has adequate tasks to keep him busy while we’re…” 

He allowed his words to trail off, a faint smile touching his lips, a light in his eyes that turned Crowley’s stomach. Crowley knew whatever he intended to do to Gabriel - he wouldn’t be doing it for long. 

“I’m leaving the door open,” Crowley declared, stern and warning. 

Aziraphale nodded in ready acceptance of the condition. “Of course, darling.”

Crowley was reluctant - but he needed a minute, himself. 

He walked into the bedroom on legs that quaked nearly as badly as his stomach, and prepared for Aziraphale to join him, a swift and consuming sense of dread swelling up in his chest. 

**********************************************************************************************

Aziraphale watched with longing, hopeful eyes as Crowley disappeared into the bedroom - then swiftly spun around and grabbed Gabriel’s throat, his tone crisp and warning. 

“I told you to get up.” 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly. 

“Yes, sir,” he gasped out, climbing to his feet as soon as Aziraphale let him go. 

Aziraphale pressed into his space, crowding him backward until he almost hit the shelf again - though Gabriel was glancing over his shoulder, careful not to touch it, terrified of breaking something. 

“You’ve been given this task before,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Though you’ve yet to perform it to my satisfaction.” He placed a heavy hand at the back of Gabriel’s neck, hauling him in closer, his voice lowering in warning. “You will this time. Won’t you?”

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“And I’m sure you’re already aware that Crowley and I _do not_ wish to be disturbed.” 

“No, sir.” Gabriel winced slightly. “I-I won’t, sir.” 

“See that you don’t.” 

Aziraphale gave him a last warning glare, before turning back toward the bedroom, his eyes alight with eager expectation. 

He found Crowley already undressed, sitting on the side of the bed - looking up at him, golden eyes bared, and touched with an edge of fear that broke Aziraphale’s heart to see it. 

“You don’t have to, darling,” he said softly. “Crowley - I know I’ve damaged your trust in me…”

But even as he spoke the half-hearted offering of an exit, Aziraphale couldn’t resist moving in closer to Crowley. He sat down on the mattress beside him, reaching out to touch. Crowley shivered a little, his breath catching as he caught Aziraphale’s hand before it could make contact… then let out a shaky sigh and settled Aziraphale’s hand firmly against his waist. 

“I’m… trying, angel,” Crowley explained, quietly, earnestly pleading. “I know you’re… frustrated, but… you need to know that… I’ve missed us, too.” 

Aziraphale reached toward Crowley’s face - a sharp ache in his chest when Crowley flinched a little. He lowered his hand, disappointed. 

“We don’t have to,” he repeated, glancing toward the door. “If you’re not ready for this, to… to trust me, then…” 

“ _No_.” 

Crowley reached up to touch Aziraphale’s face and turn it firmly back toward him - and the fierce determination in his eyes was stronger than his apprehension. 

“You don’t _need_ him,” he declared, with a note of jealousy in the words that sent a dark little thrill through Aziraphale’s heart. “You’ve got _me_.” 

Crowley lay back against the mattress, settling against the pillow beneath his head - reaching up to pull Aziraphale down over him, watching him with eyes that had gone soft and wary with realization that _this was happening_. 

Aziraphale gazed down at him, caught between desire and uncertainty. 

He wanted this so desperately… and he wanted so desperately for it to _be real_. 

_Can’t necessarily trust his words… can’t ignore the fact that he’s getting what he wanted out of this…_

It made Aziraphale feel just a little ill that _what Crowley wanted_ was a reprieve for _Gabriel_. 

_Can’t necessarily trust his heart, either..._

But regardless of Crowley’s motives, regardless of his questionable loyalties at the moment - here was Aziraphale’s love, the center of his world who’d previously shut himself off to Aziraphale, now lying here before him, open and vulnerable and inviting Aziraphale in again. 

Aziraphale had no intention of wasting this opportunity - or of making Crowley regret the offer. 

Crowley may not have been doing this for Aziraphale. He may not have felt for Aziraphale what he once had - but it meant something that he was willing to _try_. Aziraphale had to reward and reinforce that - had to encourage Crowley to let him in again - a little deeper, a little closer all the time, until they were back where they’d once been. 

He’d get there. 

Aziraphale might need to… _help_ him a little, along the way… but he’d get there. 

He settled in close, taking Crowley in his arms with near-reverent appreciation - employing the sorts of gentle, knowing touches that had always served to arouse Crowley’s desire for him. Crowley was trembling, but responsive, returning Aziraphale’s kisses, the tension in his body melting into softness as he yielded to Aziraphale’s embrace. His breath was quick and unsteady - from fear or desire, Aziraphale couldn’t distinguish. 

“Angel…” he breathed out. 

Aziraphale lifted up a bit over Crowley, reaching down between their bodies to stroke Crowley’s soft length, trying to coax him to a more interested state. 

It was… more difficult than it used to be. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Crowley whispered, a note of anxiety in the words. “It’s just… I’m…”

“No, don’t be…” Aziraphale choked back his frustration, lifting his hand to tenderly touch Crowley’s face. “It’s all right, darling, I understand.” He hesitated before suggesting, soft and cautious, “Allow me to... help you?” 

Understanding lit in Crowley’s expression, and he swallowed hard… then nodded, closing his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, all right…” 

Aziraphale performed a small miracle focused on encouraging Crowley’s arousal - and from that point, things went as naturally as they ever had. His body went through familiar motions, gently preparing Crowley with one hand while stroking him firmly, rhythmically with the other, until Crowley was ready for him. Crowley’s hands clenched in the sheets over his head, his body trembling - but his back arched with pleasure, and he let out a keening, desperate little cry as he came. 

Feeling his demon come apart under his hands, after the distance that had settled between them… 

… still wasn’t _quite_ enough. 

Mindlessly seeking a different sort of connection, to grasp hold of the control he felt slipping from him, Aziraphale reached up to where Crowley’s hands clenched in the sheets, circling his wrists firmly and pinning them to the bed. Crowley let out a soft whimper, and Aziraphale felt his resistance - not quite enough to break free. Aziraphale knew he could have fought harder, if he really wanted to. 

“Angel,” he whispered, fearful and uncertain. “Angel, _please_ …” 

It was exactly enough. 

Aziraphale reached his own completion, and finally relaxed, his body wrapped around Crowley’s. He stroked his hair, his face, soothing him with soft, reassuring words, holding him close - and Crowley allowed it, turning his face into Aziraphale’s chest, his hand resting, heavy and listless, on Aziraphale’s arm. 

“I love you so much,” Aziraphale murmured, peppering light kisses against Crowley’s face, his temple, along his hairline… gratified when Crowley clung to him, his hands tightening on Aziraphale’s arms. It was a slightly restrictive gesture, but at least Crowley was _touching_ him. Aziraphale continued fawning over him, lavishing his affection upon him. “You’ve no idea how happy you’ve made me, my darling boy…”

Crowley remained quiet in Aziraphale’s arms, until the fine tremor in his body had faded into heavy, weary stillness. 

“What can I do for you, my love?” Aziraphale asked, soft and cajoling. “Is there anything I can get for you? Anything I can do?” 

Crowley hesitated, drawing back just enough that Aziraphale could see his reluctance all over his face. “Why does he need to be naked?” he asked at last. “I’d rather he wasn’t, angel. I know you want him… humbled, but…”

Aziraphale was reluctant, but his mind was already busily at work, spinning appealing alternatives - and the vague note of _jealousy_ in Crowley’s words was _certainly_ appealing in and of itself. 

“All right,” he agreed softly. “I can accept that. I’ll work out something suitable for him to wear when he’s here. What else, love? Would you like me to draw you a bath? Something to eat or to drink, perhaps?” 

Crowley winced a little - then tilted his head, thoughtful, a faint, rueful smile toying about the edges of his mouth. 

“Well… there is _one_ thing…” 

“Name it,” Aziraphale said immediately, intoxicated by the prospect of keeping that smile there on his Crowley’s face, where it had been absent for so long. 

Crowley shook his head. “It’s silly. No need for you to…”

“Nonsense, Crowley, just tell me,” Aziraphale cut him off, gently impatient. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t get you…”

Crowley was quiet a moment, grimacing a little as if in anticipation of Aziraphale’s reaction, and Aziraphale braced himself for a request he would not be able to grant. 

“Do you remember… that dark chocolate coffee I liked so much?” 

Aziraphale’s brow lifted with surprise. “From the shop downtown?” 

“Yeah… er… downtown _Moscow_?” Crowley amended, looking up at him sheepishly. “We were there for a few days, a few decades back, remember?” 

Aziraphale nodded slowly, puzzled. 

Crowley shrugged, looking away. “I just… had a craving for it. It’s silly, I said it was. You don’t need to...”

“I could miracle you a nearly identical facsimile?” Aziraphale suggested, glancing uneasily toward the door. 

Crowley made a face, tucking his head down again, his words slightly muffled against Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Never mind, angel, it’s all right…”

Aziraphale lay there, deliberating, torn by indecision. 

It was such a small and simple thing Crowley was asking for - and Aziraphale would love nothing more than to give it to him. Moscow was no farther than downtown London, for beings such as them, who could travel anywhere in the time it took to blink. 

_But… it could be a trick…_

Aziraphale didn’t _think_ Crowley would risk permanent injury to his hands by attempting to remove the cuffs again - especially now that he’d made it perfectly clear how futile such a gesture would be, how easily he could bring Gabriel back under his control - but he couldn’t quite be sure. 

He hadn’t thought Crowley would do it the first time, either. 

An easy solution crossed Aziraphale’s mind, a way to ensure Crowley’s safety while still getting him _exactly_ what he wanted, but… 

He’d promised. 

If Crowley knew he’d done it, after, he’d be furious. Aziraphale would surely lose him forever - no matter how long he managed to keep him physically near. 

_Have to do this properly. Have to…_ ask _first._

“It’s just that… I don’t want you hurt, darling,” Aziraphale explained softly, heart accelerating a bit with apprehension when Crowley went very, very still in his arms. “I’m afraid that… well, Gabriel’s clearly gained your sympathies, and… with me away, he might try to convince you to…”

“Send him home,” Crowley suggested, looking up into Aziraphale’s eyes, his gaze soft and searching. “You weren’t going to have him here for a few more days, anyway. Why not just let him go? Call him back later.” 

Aziraphale grimaced. “I don’t really care for the message that sends him,” he admitted. “Makes me appear a bit soft, doesn’t it? I’d rather he finish the tasks I’ve set him to, first.” 

Crowley nodded, slow and reluctant. “Right. Okay.” His words were heavy with disappointment. 

But what was truly unbearable was how terribly _unsurprised_ he looked to be disappointed. 

“I wish you could understand, Crowley. I wish you could trust me…” 

Crowley glanced up at him again. “I’m trying to,” he said softly. 

“Perhaps…” Aziraphale hesitated, closing his eyes as he pushed out the suggestion, “... perhaps if you’d allow me, darling… to just… help you rest a bit? As I did before?” 

Crowley’s body tensed in Aziraphale’s arms, and he rushed to assuage his fears. 

“Just while I’m gone for the coffee, I’d wake you immediately after. It’d only be a matter of an hour at most. You know, just in case the place has… relocated, or… if there’s a line.” He was quiet a moment, encouraged by the uncertainty in Crowley’s eyes - which was at least a step up from open fear. “I just want to be certain that you’re safe, while I’m away.” 

Crowley swallowed hard. He glanced at the door, and then back up at Aziraphale. “And I’d be… _safe_ , magically asleep and unable to wake on my own. With _him_ here. You ought to send him home…”

Aziraphale suppressed a scoffing sound at the ludicrous notion of Gabriel actually daring to lash out at Crowley. He shook his head slowly, a grim smile touching his lips. 

“He knows better.” 

Crowley bit his lip, glancing uncertainly between Aziraphale and the door - and then he closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh. 

“All right, then.” 

Aziraphale blinked, stunned. “Really?” 

“But none of that ‘dream of whatever you like best’ bullshit. Nothing like that,” Crowley warned him, looking back up at him with wary eyes. “Please. No making me feel all safe and warm and peaceful and all that. I feel… _how I feel_ , angel, and if you start fucking about with that, then… before long… there’d be nothing left of me. I - I know I wouldn't even know it if you did... if you didn't want me to. But I'm asking you. _Please_ don't.” 

The slight tremor in Crowley’s words, the pleading desperation in his golden gaze, tore at Aziraphale’s heart. And despite the temptation to simply… _encourage_ Crowley to feel differently about the whole situation... to conveniently help him _forget_ the things wedged between them now… 

Aziraphale knew - he _couldn’t_ do that. Not to Crowley. 

“I told you, my love,” he said softly, reaching out tenderly to touch Crowley’s face, his heart aching at the slight flinch Crowley just barely managed to disguise. “I would never do such a thing to you. It’s just as you said, so wisely, about Anathema. If I did, then… it wouldn’t be _you_ who was here with me, at all. You wouldn’t be the dear demon that I love so much. I could never do that to you, Crowley.” 

_And I won’t have to. Why, you’re already beginning to come around._

_Just look at the progress we’ve made, just now…_

‘I - I don’t know how to prove it to you, darling,” Aziraphale confessed, quiet and sad. “I can only give you my word that I won’t. I swear to you.” 

Crowley gave him a weak, watery smile, his words hoarse and unsteady. “Trust’s gotta start somewhere, yeah?”

Aziraphale was overwhelmed with a feeling of such warmth and appreciation toward Crowley, for being so willing to take a chance on him... to submit to Aziraphale’s desire to protect him. 

“Thank you, my love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Crowley’s yielding lips, then lifting a gentle hand to caress Crowley’s brow. “I’ll wake you just as soon as I return, yes? I promise.” 

Crowley’s eyes darted warily toward Aziraphale’s hand, but he nodded. 

“All right,” he whispered.

Aziraphale first performed a simple miracle to clean up the mess from Crowley’s body and the bed - rendering the sheets clean and fresh, the blankets soft and slightly warmed. Crowley smiled appreciatively, settling into them more deeply, his hands sliding up to rest behind his head, under the edges of the pillow. 

Aziraphale shifted in closer to Crowley, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close, stroking his hair and whispering soothing words as he had done the last time… quietly coaxing him to rest, to be at peace, to know that he was safe and all was well, and to dream of good and pleasant things. 

“And know…” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Crowley’s temple. “Know how much I love you, my darling, always…” 

Crowley’s eyes drifted shut, his body slowly going heavy and limp in Aziraphale’s arms, until at last Aziraphale was certain that he was asleep. Aziraphale rose from the bed, settling the blankets comfortably around Crowley, before turning to leave the bedroom. 

And heading straight toward Gabriel.

********************************************************************************

Gabriel did his best to focus on the task he’d been given, to clean the shelves in the way Aziraphale had shown him - again and again _and again_ , each new demonstration made with less patience and greater frustration, and with the ache of fresh bruises distracting Gabriel’s mind from the lesson. 

“ _Wrong_ ,” Aziraphale would declare severely. “A _disgraceful_ mess!” 

He’d then return the shelf to its previous dusty condition and demand that Gabriel try again - though not once had Gabriel managed to meet Aziraphale’s exacting expectations. 

He had little hope that this time would be any different. 

Especially when he couldn’t help thinking about what was happening behind the closed bedroom door. He heard soft sounds every now and then, sounds that were likely muffled cries of pain - and once, he thought he caught a faint, hushed, _“please…”_

_If you weren’t such a coward… you should get in there and help him, he’s suffering this_ for you. 

_Worthless… undeserving…_

But Gabriel had well learned _many_ lessons over the past few months - not the least of which was that fighting Aziraphale _never_ ended well. 

Even for Crowley. 

_If there’s anyone in the universe that’s even_ close _to Aziraphale’s level of power - it’s Crowley._

_If this is happening to_ him… _what makes you think_ you _can stop it?_

Gabriel had learned one thing in particular from watching Crowley’s repeated, futile attempts - and he was _not_ going to attempt to help Crowley, only to make things worse for him. 

He felt a moment’s rush of relief - followed by _sheer panic_ \- when the bedroom door opened, and Aziraphale emerged, heading directly toward him. His heart lurched, and instinct _screamed_ at him to _retreat_ \- so he forced himself instead to set the cloth and canister down on the empty, mostly-clean shelf he’d been working on, and turned to face Aziraphale, head bowed, worrying hands folded in front of him - at quiet, respectful attention. 

Aziraphale didn’t touch him immediately. When Gabriel ventured a glance up at his face, the principality was at least smiling. Calm. 

_Sated._

_Because of Crowley._

_You worthless piece of shit, you don’t even_ begin _to deserve that._

Aziraphale reached out to take Gabriel’s arm, tugging it down to his side - and Gabriel hesitantly dropped his other arm as well. 

“Yes, there we are,” Aziraphale murmured, his tone hushed and thick, touched with lust. “That’s better, let’s have a look at you, dove…” 

Gabriel’s face flushed with shame, his stomach rolling dangerously at the way Aziraphale’s eyes trailed lazily up and down his fully exposed body. 

_Maybe… not so_ sated _, after all…_

“You know, Crowley finds your indecency… _offensive_ ,” Aziraphale remarked with a regretful sigh. “He prefers you to be clothed when you’re in our home… and you’re going to be spending quite a bit more time in our home from now on, Gabriel.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure what _that_ meant. 

He thought of the two weeks he’d spent in the backroom. Whatever Aziraphale was suggesting _had_ to be better than _that_ … didn’t it? He wouldn’t be locked away in the backroom, at Aziraphale’s unrestrained mercy. 

Crowley would be there. 

_To take it for you? To suffer in your place, you selfish, worthless coward?_

“There’s always the more appropriately casual garments you’d been wearing about your work in Heaven, but… I’m thinking perhaps… something a bit better suited to your current station, when you’re here.” 

Gabriel didn’t have any idea what Aziraphale was talking about. He nodded, anyway. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You aren’t too proud to appear as one of the least important of Heaven’s angels, are you?” Aziraphale continued with a cold smile. “The ones you’d have ordered to their own deaths without a second thought?” 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and Gabriel flinched automatically - though he already knew the miracle was likely to involve altering his state of dress. He was unsurprised to find himself immediately covered, but mildly surprised to find himself in a heavenly military uniform - not the gleaming, glorious garments he’d worn when commanding a regimen during the rebellion, but rather, in the standard kilt and coat of an ordinary foot soldier. Down to every detail, complete with shoes and stockings, and the gleaming white helmet that completed the ensemble. 

Aziraphale did away with the helmet immediately with a wave of his hand. 

“You’re already clumsy enough,” he smirked. “I can just see you attempting to manage your chores, while balancing _that_ on your head.”

Another wave made the jacket vanish, leaving Gabriel in the plain white shirt underneath. 

“Those shirt sleeves will be just _grey_ in no time, if you’re doing an even _remotely_ acceptable job,” Aziraphale said with a critical frown. 

He snapped his fingers, and abruptly the white, military-regulation shirt sleeves vanished, leaving the shirt sleeveless, and Gabriel’s arms uncovered. 

Aziraphale smiled. 

“Oh, yes. That’s a _far_ more pleasing aesthetic.” 

Gabriel lowered his head, feeling inexplicably foolish, shamed by his exposure, by his appearance - by his _utter failure_ to satisfy Aziraphale’s expectations in _any way at all_ that didn’t involve Aziraphale’s making use of his body. He tensed as Aziraphale moved in closer, but didn’t dare to step back, to so much as flinch, as Aziraphale’s contemptuous gaze raked over him once more, slowly.

“And _I’m_ a sorry excuse for an angel,” he scoffed, an odd sort of distance in his tone. 

Gabriel blinked, glancing anxiously up to try to gauge Aziraphale’s expression. The words were confusing. They didn’t sound like anything Aziraphale would actually say about himself - and Gabriel didn’t remember ever saying them to Aziraphale, either.

But of course, that didn’t mean that he hadn’t. 

In the 6000 years Aziraphale had been subordinate to him, Gabriel had made a great many harsh, unforgiving comments about him - and Aziraphale’s words held the resentful tone of a bitter echo of memory. Aziraphale’s eyes were cold, quietly angry, as they dragged their way back up Gabriel’s body - and when they locked onto his again, hard and glittering with malice, Gabriel shivered. 

“Say it.” 

Gabriel was fairly certain that hadn’t been Aziraphale’s intention when he’d spoken. The words hadn’t sounded at all like the usual leading, knowing tone he used when he meant for Gabriel to repeat after him. 

It didn’t matter. He’d been given an order. 

“I-I’m a sorry excuse for an angel,” Gabriel whispered, face flushed, words thick with shame. 

Regardless of what the words meant to Aziraphale - Gabriel knew it was the truth. 

“You certainly are.” 

Aziraphale edged in nearer to Gabriel, running a single finger down his bare arm, provoking an anxious shiver under the light, teasing touch. 

“You _shouldn’t_ look like a soldier, should you?” Aziraphale mused, low and private, as if to keep Gabriel’s shame _between them_ . “Did you ever even _fight_ in the Rebellion _at all_?” he asked softly. “Or did you just stand at the sidelines looking important and barking orders to those who bled and fell at your command?” 

Gabriel closed his eyes. He couldn’t speak. 

He’d never thought of it in that way, but… Aziraphale was right. 

Aziraphale was always right. 

Gabriel drew in a sharp breath, a shudder passing through him, resisting the urge to draw his legs together as Aziraphale’s hand cupped him through the thin fabric of the kilt. Aziraphale snapped his fingers again, and all at once the stockings and shoes vanished as well - every bit of the uniform gone save the demolished shirt, and the kilt. 

Aziraphale pressed in close to Gabriel, one hand at his side pushing him gently so that his back was to the wall - the other hand slipping under the kilt to wrap firmly around Gabriel’s cock, fingers probing experimentally at his most sensitive parts, as Aziraphale spoke, hushed and knowing, against his ear. 

“No… you really aren’t much of a fighter. Are you, my dove?” 

Gabriel kept as still as he could, his entire body trembling, splayed fingers pressed against the wall behind him. 

“N-no, sir,” he breathed out. 

He could feel Aziraphale’s smile against his skin - just before Aziraphale abruptly grabbed his arm and spun him around to face the wall, giving him a warning little shove against it. Gabriel bit back a cry of pained, fearful protest as Aziraphale reached under the kilt again, roughly groping his ass, then up between his legs. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale remarked, low and satisfied. “I do believe this will be acceptable to all interested parties.” 

It wasn’t by any means _acceptable_ to Gabriel. 

But what he wanted - whether or not he was _interested_ in Aziraphale’s advances - didn’t matter. 

_Gabriel_ didn’t matter.

_Not yours to decide..._

“You’ll arrive dressed like this from now on, when I call you.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, breathless. 

He tried not to think about how often or for how long that might be - about lengthy hours spent terrified to exhaustion, doomed to repeated failure and punishment - about being technically covered enough to appease Crowley, while still being as exposed as Aziraphale needed to take _absolutely anything_ he wanted from Gabriel’s body… right under Crowley’s nose. 

He tried not to think _at all_ , and just kept still, eyes closed, hands braced against the wall, waiting for the sharp, bright burst of pain when Aziraphale replaced the rough, demanding grasp of his hand, with his cock instead. 

But that didn’t happen. 

The principality withdrew, lifting the hand he’d used to grope Gabriel’s body to run through his hair instead, deceptively gentle. 

“Crowley’s sleeping. I’m going out for a while. I should be back within an hour. While I’m gone, you’re going to complete the tasks I’ve assigned you, and you’re going to do an adequate job - because you’ll _stay_ here until you do. Understood?” 

Gabriel nodded, his heart racing, his mind spinning with confusion at the jarring shift. “Y-yes, sir.”

“If I’m not satisfied with your work… well…” 

Aziraphale took his arm and pulled him around again, directing his attention with a single nod toward the wheeled stool - unused, unassuming, and utterly _terrifying_. 

“... there are other ways in which you may prove yourself to me.” 

Gabriel shook his head, stifling a sobbing gasp. “N-no, sir, please… _please_ …” 

Aziraphale’s grip tightened on his arm, warning and painful. “I don’t believe you have permission to _speak_ , my dove.” 

Gabriel shook his head. “N-no, sir,” he whispered. He swallowed back the tumult of additional, forbidden words pressing their way up his throat, threatening to spill out. 

Aziraphale released him at last and headed for the door that led down the stairs - a cheerful little hum on his lips. 

In his wake, all was quiet and still, save the thundering of Gabriel’s racing heart. 

He’d been _absolutely certain_ that Aziraphale was going to fuck him, at the least - possibly worse - regardless of Crowley’s use of himself as a bargaining chip to prevent that. Gabriel’s chest clenched tight with guilty dread.

_Crowley…_

He turned his gaze toward the bedroom door - cracked just a few inches open. No sound came from beyond it, and just the faint glow of a small lamp of some sort. Crowley was... _sleeping_ , Aziraphale had said. But beings such as angels and demons didn’t need to sleep. 

The last time Crowley had slept, Gabriel knew - Aziraphale had _made_ him sleep. 

For _weeks_. 

_Is that what he’s doing to him, now?_

_Is that…_ all _he’s doing to him?_

It was so quiet… so still. 

Gabriel’s mind drifted, unbidden, to the vivid memories of the times Aziraphale had forced himself on him - the breathtaking pain - the sharp, piercing ache that made Gabriel never want to _move again_ \- the absolutely mind-numbing devastation, the lost feeling of helplessness. 

It was quite possible that Crowley was simply _too broken_ to cry. To _move_. 

But Gabriel also remembered being bound in painful, humiliating positions - by the cuffs, or simply by Aziraphale’s power. Unable to move. 

Unable to _make a sound_. 

_He wouldn’t do that to Crowley. He wouldn’t hurt him like he hurts you…_

But… Crowley had _offered._

Aziraphale had been _furious_ , for some unknown cause - enraged and violent and ready to unleash _all of that_ on _Gabriel_ … 

And _Crowley_ had stepped in - diverting Aziraphale’s attention and taking Gabriel’s place. 

_What if he just took whatever he was going to do to you… and did it to Crowley, instead?_

That horrifying thought chilled Gabriel’s blood, and drove his bare feet to the bedroom door - soft and cautious, but with hurried urgency. He froze just outside the door, his hand on the handle, breath caught in his throat. 

Too afraid to open the door… too afraid of what he’d find on the other side. 

And then… a quiet sound broke the stillness. A sound that simultaneously flooded Gabriel with relief - and made his heart ache with anguished guilt. 

A soft, broken _sob_. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry DiPMas!!!! ;) 
> 
> Enjoy!!! 
> 
> And take a look at ThisIsGreat's GORGEOUS present to The Repossessed server - his beautiful artwork!!!! 
> 
> It's NSFW, but soooooo stunning <3 <3 <3 
> 
> If you are not yet a member of the server and are interested, here is the link: 
> 
> https://discord.gg/KEnffENk8k
> 
> We are an 18+ server where the sorts of themes found in this story and Repossession and related works are openly discussed... please come join us if that sounds appealing to you <3

Poor Gabriel, all wrapped up as a present for someone who... probably is not interested... 

Oh, well. More for Aziraphale. ;) 

And now, onto the chapter... enjoy!!!! <3 <3 <3 

_ Anathema answered her phone on the second ring, her words trembling with mingled relief and worry.  _

_ “Are you okay?”  _

_ Crowley’s vision blurred, a burning ache in his chest at the urgency of concern in her voice - and how easily and utterly the truth would shatter any care she held for him. How swiftly she would certainly reject him, if she knew the things he was guilty of.  _

_ How no matter what he told her… he probably wasn’t going to see her for quite a long while.  _

_ “Yeah,” he said softly, then amended, “Kind of.”  _

_ “Where were you?” Anathema demanded. “Crowley, I’ve been trying to reach you for  _ weeks _! I don’t even know your address - I tried to find the bookshop. It’s apparently unlisted?” _

_ “Yeah. If it was listed, folks would be able to find it. Can’t have that.” _

_ “Crowley, I was  _ so worried _ …”  _

_ “I know,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I was just… worn out, after what happened, and… had a bit of a nap…” _

_ “For  _ two weeks _?”  _

_ “... yeah.”  _

_ Anathema went silent. When at last she spoke, there was a dubious note in her voice.  _

_ “That is… not normal.” _

_ “It is for me,” he informed her. “It’s… a thing I do. Sometimes.”  _

_ He wasn’t lying to her. It was the truth, Crowley reassured himself. It just wasn’t the truth  _ right now. 

_ “And… that’s all. You just… slept for two weeks.”  _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ Anathema went quiet again - then abruptly broke the silence with a hesitant question, touched with ready anger, prepared to be unleashed, dependent upon its answer.  _

_ “Did he hurt you?”  _

_ “No,” Crowley answered without hesitation. “I can handle myself, love…” _

_ “But… your hands, Crowley. You were hurt, and he just-”  _

_ “I know,” he cut her off, unable to keep the edge from his voice - softening it with an effort as he reminded himself that it wasn’t meant for her. “Sorry, love. Just… don’t fancy reliving it.” He swallowed slowly, a soft admission escaping his lips, hoarse and aching. “He’s never… put his hands on me like that before.”  _

_ Anathema was quiet, and Crowley could almost hear her weighing her words, before she responded, carefully calm, her words heavy with certainty.  _

_ “It won’t be the last time, Crowley. You should get out of there.”  _

_ Crowley stifled a sigh. “Can’t,” he said. “Not yet. There’s… things I need to take care of first.”  _

_ “So… pull your time stopping thingy.” Crowley could practically hear the vague, hand-waving gesture that accompanied her words. “Like you told me about, like at the airfield. Do whatever you need to do. Be halfway around the world before he even knows you’re gone.” She paused, her next words small and sad. “I’d miss you, but…” _

_ “Wouldn’t work,” Crowley sighed. “First… I’d miss you, too. Don’t fancy moving halfway around the world, away from... “ He swallowed, an ache in his chest as he concluded softly, “... my best friend. And second… time wouldn’t stop for Aziraphale. It’d stop for you, and the rest of humanity, but… not for him. Nor for any other angel or demon. I did what I did at the airfield, and you and your boy, the other humans - didn’t lose a moment. Weren’t aware of any of it, because beings like angels and demons and… whatever slightly more than human thing Adam is… we exist  _ outside  _ of time.” _

_ He could  _ hear _ the skeptical frown in her voice. “But… the devil himself… doesn’t, somehow? How did it work at the airfield, if…?”  _

_ “I didn’t just stop time at the airfield. I took us to a different place entirely. And… yeah, he would have found us there eventually, but… it gave us just a few moments, and that was all we needed. I couldn’t have kept us there, in that place outside of time, for much longer than I did.”  _

_ He was quiet, considering his words, choosing the ones he felt would best help her understand. “Stopping time… it’s a delicate business, anyway. Time… is a bit capricious. Doesn’t always cooperate. Gotta approach her… respectful like. It’s… dangerous. Exhausting. And not useful against Aziraphale.”  _

_ Anathema was silent, taking that in. Then she spoke, quiet and concerned.  _

_ “But… you  _ are _ leaving him.”  _

_ Crowley swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he replied at last. “Just have to… make sure I can do it safely, first.”  _

_ “What does  _ that  _ mean?” Anathema demanded, her tone immediately alarmed and agitated. “If he hasn’t hurt you, Crowley… you know… besides the time I  _ just saw him hurt you _...” _

_ “I’m not afraid of Aziraphale,” Crowley insisted, taking a breath before he admitted in a rush, “I’m… afraid of what he’ll do if I’m  _ not  _ here.”  _

_ Anathema was quiet, considering his words, before she guessed, “With… Gabriel.”  _

_ “Yeah.”  _

_ “So…” she began at last, slow and measured. “... your solution to your shitty, abusive boyfriend’s cheating on you when you’re away is to just…  _ not be away _. Stay there with him, so he can’t  _ cheat  _ on you again? Just… push you around, and grab you, and…” _

_ “Anathema.” Crowley winced, his mouth dry, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach at her accusations. “Don’t.”  _

_ “Crowley, that’s fucking insane.”  _

_ “There’s more to it than you realize.” _

_ “Yeah.” She sighed. “I’ve gathered that.”  _

_ Crowley took a moment to collect his thoughts, to try to find the words; and though he could practically feel her frustrated fury through the phone line… Anathema allowed him that time. When at last he spoke, his voice was hoarse, thick with emotion he couldn’t quite name - or didn’t want to.  _

_ “I - I got someone else into this,” he admitted. “ _ Dragged _ him into this, and - I can’t leave until I can get him out, too.”  _

_ “Gabriel?”  _

_ “Yeah.”  _

_ “I don’t get it,” Anathema sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just - if he’s cheating with Aziraphale, on you, how is it  _ your fault _? How do you owe him anything, and  _ why _ did you never tell me that Aziraphale’s side piece is the  _ Archangel Fucking Gabriel _?”  _

_ Crowley couldn’t help a soft huff of laughter - then fell silent before confessing, soft and sad, “I need your help, love.”  _

_ “Name it.”  _

_ The swift certainty of her promise pressed a sweet ache into Crowley’s battered heart. He closed his eyes against tears that rose there, trying not to think about how differently she’d feel if he wasn’t too much of a coward to tell her the truth.  _

_ “I need… magic. Protection.”  _

_ “From?” Her tone was wary.  _

_ Crowley thought about it - what he knew Aziraphale had already done to him, what other ways he might have influenced Crowley’s thinking recently, without his knowledge. He considered his words before responding with a little grimace.  _

_ “Mind control?”  _

_ Anathema snorted. “ _ Mind control _?” she echoed, disbelieving. “What is this, a bad sci-fi?” When Crowley didn’t respond, she sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Fuck, you’re serious.” Her next words carried a note of quiet, trembling fury. “Crowley,  _ what did he do _?”  _

_ “Nothing,” Crowley lied - then added a touch of truth as he amended, “Yet.” Then he sighed, and braced himself for her outrage as he told her the rest of the truth. “I might not have…  _ chosen _ … to take a two-week nap. This time.”  _

_ “Shit.” Anathema fairly spat the word out, her voice trembling with protective fury. “I knew it.  _ Fuck _.”  _

_ “Yeah. I need some kind of a barrier. The sort of human magic he won’t expect, and won’t be able to just break through. Sort of thing that’s in place… even if my guard is down. I can’t have him doing that again, or… or anything else…” _

_ “Like… that thing he said,” Anathema remarked, quiet and grim. “At my house. About… helping me not be afraid of him. He could actually do that, couldn’t he? Alter my thoughts, or… memories, maybe...”  _

_ Crowley felt the heat of shame creep up to flush his face, hating himself for the danger to which he’d exposed her. _

_ “Yeah. He could.” _

_ She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she asked, quiet, “And yours, too? You’re just as powerful as he is, aren’t you? Could he… make  _ you _ forget what happened? Or make you… forgive him, and take him back?”  _

_ “Maybe,” Crowley admitted. “If he caught me by surprise, if I... wasn’t expecting it, or... “  _

_ He sighed. He was still trying to figure out how Aziraphale had managed to overpower his mental resistance and put him to sleep in the first place.  _

_ “Yeah. He could.”  _

_ “Well, you’re in luck,” she said matter of factly. “Because that shit did  _ not  _ sit right with me, and I made myself a little something after you left that night, in case he decided to come back and try something like that. And… I made something for you, too. Just in case. Hold on.”  _

_ Crowley waited - and then blinked, his impatient frown fading as the air before his eyes began to shimmer and move, some sort of disturbance creating waves in the atmosphere, as something began to materialize out of the ether.  _

_ His sunglasses.  _

_ “This you?” he asked, incredulous, as he plucked them out of the air, turning them back and forth in his hand, examining them with vague suspicion.  _

_ “Yeah. Cool, huh?” Anathema sounded quite pleased with herself.  _

_ “Damn. When did you get so powerful?”  _

_ Anathema did not directly answer the question. “I put the same protective spell on your sunglasses that I put on the necklace I’m wearing right now… and will be wearing for the foreseeable future. To bed. In the shower. Wherever I  _ ever go _ for  _ the rest of my life _.” There was an unhappy, vaguely accusing edge to her voice.  _

_ Crowley was a bit too preoccupied to apologize. “So… now my sunglasses will protect me from mind control?” _

_ “Yeah, I’m not calling it that,” Anathema replied immediately. “You’re ridiculous. But… yes. Will that work?”  _

_ “Not sure,” Crowley admitted with a sigh. “Not that I’m not  _ damn _ impressed with your skills,” he assured her quickly. “And… the fact that you’d  _ already done this _ before I called.” He went silent, his voice softer when he spoke again. “But… what if he takes them off me?”  _

_ Anathema was quiet. “Can you keep him from doing that?” she asked at last, her words very carefully measured, as if she was doing her level best not to sound angry.  _

_ “I’m… not sure,” Crowley admitted.  _

_ “Fuck,” Anathema whispered. She went quiet before she spoke again, small and unhappy. “Crowley, I hate this.”  _

_ “I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”  _

_ “No,” she replied, fierce and protective. “I just want you safe, that’s all. Have you put them on yet?”  _

_ Crowley slid them onto his face, as comfortable and natural as his own skin. “Yes.”  _

_ “Good. Now if you’ve already been whammied, putting those on should have undone… whatever he changed. Your mind should be clear, and your original memories restored.” _

_ Crowley raised a brow, though it was a wasted gesture, a soft smile of affectionate amusement touching his lips. “Whammied you’ll use, but not mind control?”  _

_ “Shut up,” she said, quick and no-nonsense. “Is anything different?”  _

_ Crowley took a moment to consider the question, thinking back on his memories of the past few days and months. “No,” he replied at last. “Doesn’t seem as if he’s… changed anything.”  _

_ “And now he won’t get the chance to.” Relief and satisfaction were clear in her voice. “They just have to be on you,  _ somewhere _ ,” she reasoned. “Not necessarily on the face part of you. So… you could keep them in your pocket, maybe? And if you go to sleep, put them under your pillow. Just so long as they’re in your immediate possession.” She paused before adding, solemn and troubled, “Don’t let him take them away from you.”  _

_ “Yeah,” Crowley nodded slowly, taking the glasses from his face and tucking them into his back pocket, at the same time snapping his fingers to produce an identical pair. He slid them on and smiled as the world around him took on its familiar shaded haze.  _

_ “Yeah. I think I can manage that.”  _

_ ********************************************************************************************************** _

Crowley stayed where he was, still and quiet in the bed, eyes closed - listening to Aziraphale’s quiet, menacing words in the next room… to the archangel’s soft, pleading responses and sharp, frightened gasps… and resisted the urge to get up and march out there and confront Aziraphale, demand that he stop what he was doing. 

_ Because that worked so well the last time… _

He made himself wait until he heard the talking stop, and the sound of the apartment door closing, and finally, the distant, muffled sound of the bell over the bookshop door. Once he was certain that Aziraphale had actually left, Crowley finally, carefully sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and reaching under his pillow to retrieve the sunglasses Anathema had enchanted. 

He stared at them without seeing them, his heart racing, his mind reeling, replaying every moment of the encounter with Aziraphale, again and again. 

He shivered and snapped his fingers, restoring the bed to a neatly made condition and his clothes to his body. 

It didn’t really help. 

He could still feel Aziraphale’s hands, sliding over his bare skin - first, with something akin to reverence, with gratitude that Crowley was allowing this at all... a gentle, careful touch that slowly shifted into  _ grasping, demanding _ \- firm, forceful hands pressing into Crowley’s body as if they owned it, maneuvering him, positioning him, harsh fingers digging in deep as if seeking something Aziraphale thought he’d lost within him. 

And then… holding him down. Pinning him to the bed even when Crowley struggled to free himself. Even when he cried out, when he  _ begged _ Aziraphale…

When he begged him… that was when Aziraphale had found what he was seeking. 

Crowley felt sick. 

The phantom touch of soft hands, tracing over his body with a familiarity that only Aziraphale could have possessed… why did it feel just like every groping, aggressive, demanding demon that had ever put their hands on him in Hell?

There was a very small, very  _ stupid _ little piece of Crowley’s heart that he  _ viciously despised _ for believing, in spite of everything he’d witnessed, in spite of Aziraphale’s cruelty, that Aziraphale might still come back to him, somehow. 

Crowley held no illusions about the fact that he was  _ playing _ Aziraphale. He didn’t really  _ want _ to be with him. 

But…  _ just maybe _ … Crowley would do this thing, would take Aziraphale into his arms, invite him into his body… and Aziraphale would remember that he _ loved Crowley _ more than he hated or  _ wanted _ Gabriel. Maybe Crowley could remind Aziraphale of how it used to be, when they were all each other had, and all each other needed. Maybe Crowley could love Aziraphale back to himself, pull him back from the brink of the dark, gaping chasm of madness that had already all but sucked him down. 

But he’d searched Aziraphale’s eyes and found a stranger staring back at him, with a cold, calculating hunger, and no trace of concern for whether or not he consumed Crowley entirely in pursuit of its satisfaction. 

_ Maybe you’re a fucking fool.  _

_ Maybe you deserve  _ every shred _ of how much this  _ fucking hurts...

He hadn’t been able to even begin to make his body respond the way he’d wanted it to, if only to convince Aziraphale. So he’d allowed Aziraphale to do it, to…  _ help him _ , oh  _ Someone _ , he felt  _ sick _ with the remembered sensation… as if Aziraphale’s intrusive hands weren’t enough, as if the angel had reached right into his very soul and torn something away. Something important, that he’d clung to and treasured since the wall of Eden, keeping it close to his heart until it had  _ grown into _ his heart, become a part of it, a part of him so deeply embedded that he could scarcely imagine rooting it out. 

Something that  _ kept him _ from feeling hollow, and helpless, and desperately alone. 

It was that part of Crowley that clung to the hope of somehow  _ fixing _ what Aziraphale had become - of somehow getting back what they’d lost. 

And it was that part of Crowley which Aziraphale had ripped away with the last shreds of his hope, when he’d heard his fear and felt his resistance - and drank it in like honeyed wine. 

Crowley stared down at the reddened skin at his wrists, felt the dull ache there, already fading - not nearly enough to bruise, even. Still, undeniable evidence of how Aziraphale had overpowered him and ignored his pleas. 

_ But that’s not right, is it? Didn’t  _ ignore _ them, exactly, did he?  _

_ He  _ got off  _ on them.  _

A soft sob escaped Crowley’s lips, and he lifted the back of his hand against his mouth to stifle the next one, shaking his head, pressing down the sense of rising panic swelling in his chest. 

_ You were in control the whole time, _ he reminded himself.  _ He’s no more powerful than you. That’s a lie he’s got Gabriel believing… but he’s  _ not _.  _

_ You chose this. You could have stopped him any time you wanted.  _

So… why didn’t it  _ feel _ that way? 

_ Stupid. Melodramatic. You’re being ridiculous.  _

Crowley swiped at his eyes angrily, shaking his head once, emphatic, as he choked back a sob. 

_ This is nothing. This is what you asked for, what you wanted. He didn’t even hurt you.  _

_ Not like he hurts…  _

Crowley opened his eyes - and froze. 

_ Gabriel. _

The archangel was kneeling at the side of the bed, half-hidden in the shadows cast by the light on the other side. Crowley could make out that at least he was no longer naked, though whatever Aziraphale had dressed him in didn’t seem to cover much - didn’t even have proper sleeves. 

Gabriel’s head was bowed low, one hand wrapped anxiously around his waist - the other lifted, trembling and hesitant, to his lips. His searching gaze locked onto Crowley’s face, violet eyes troubled and concerned. 

Crowley sighed, looking away and shaking his head. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, quiet and listless. “He’s not here.” 

Gabriel hesitantly lowered his hand with an anxious frown and a hushed, faltering protest. 

“He’ll… he’ll still  _ know _ …”

“He won’t,” Crowley insisted, stifling the note of impatience behind the words that wasn’t really meant for Gabriel, anyway, so much as for the one who’d convinced him so thoroughly of Aziraphale’s power. 

_ That would be you, mate. Your fault. You did this.  _

“I’m not going to say anything,” Crowley explained. “So the only way he’ll know you spoke without permission is if  _ you _ …” 

Crowley stopped, taking in the archangel’s anxious expression - remembering just exactly how they had gotten here: how Gabriel had merely  _ considered _ telling Michael what was happening to him - and then come straight to Aziraphale instead, to confess. 

“Yeah, I guess you’d better,” he admitted at last with grim realization. “Well, you’ve asked, then, haven’t you? You’ve got permission.” He considered Gabriel for a moment, then sighed. “I’m gonna regret this,” he muttered, before drawing in a breath. “Right, then. Blanket permission, we’ll say. If Aziraphale’s not here, and it’s just you and me, just...assume you have my permission to speak freely. Yeah?” 

Gabriel blinked up at him, then looked down, his brow creasing with worry. 

“He said do as I say, unless it goes against what  _ he _ said. Right?” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered slowly, guarded and wary, as if waiting for the trap to spring. 

“Did he  _ say _ I  _ can’t  _ give you blanket permission to speak?” 

Gabriel’s frown eased a little as he slowly shook his head. “No, sir…” 

“Good, then.” Crowley nodded firmly. “Now that’s settled. What did you want to say?” 

Gabriel swallowed slowly, his eyes locked onto the floor. “I…” he whispered, closing his eyes in quiet anguish. “ _ I’m sorry _ .” 

The dull ache in Crowley’s chest made him wince, and he found himself instinctively reaching out toward Gabriel, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Gabriel didn’t flinch or pull away - only lowered his head further in shame, his shoulders shaking a little. 

“Hey,” Crowley said, low and rough. “Look at me, archangel.” 

Gabriel obeyed, tears welling in his eyes, and a depth of gratitude that made Crowley feel like crawling under a rock somewhere and never coming out again. He made himself hold Gabriel’s gaze instead, speaking simple truth... wishing himself free to speak  _ so much more _ of it. 

“It’s not your fault. You have _ nothing _ to be sorry for.” 

Gabriel shook his head. “But… he made you…” 

“He didn’t  _ make _ me do anything,” Crowley stated with flat resignation, allowing his hand to fall away from Gabriel’s shoulder, folding both hands together instead, between his parted knees. “It was my choice.” 

“For me,” Gabriel whispered, his expression stricken and touched with awed disbelief. “You… let him do it to  _ you _ instead…”

“ _ No _ ,” Crowley cut him off, looking up at him sharply. “No, it wasn’t… it’s not the same. What… Aziraphale and I do, it’s not… not the same as what he did…” Crowley swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment, and amending, “... what he does to you.” 

Gabriel blinked, shaking his head a little in obvious confusion. Crowley sighed, pressing forefinger and thumb against his eyes and wincing with discomfort.

“When you’re… a couple…  _ together _ , it’s… it’s different. He didn’t…  _ force _ me, he didn’t…” His heart raced, his breath seeming to fail him, and Crowley allowed his words to trail off. 

_ Stop it. It was nothing. You made it happen. _

Gabriel studied him with uncertainty, then ventured, halting and softly hopeful, “It… didn’t hurt?” 

Crowley stared at him, trying to find the words to answer. Just  _ one _ word, really. The one word, the  _ lie _ that would reassure the archangel… that would ease his concerns and his inexplicable,  _ utterly _ unearned guilt. 

For all the lies he’d told Gabriel already… Crowley couldn’t seem to force this one past his lips.

The dull ache in Crowley’s chest became a sharp burst, and he lowered his head into both his hands, trying for all he was worth not to weep like a broken child. He sat there, trying to catch his breath, trying to slow his racing pulse and tamp down the rising sense of panic tightening in his chest. 

And then, Crowley felt a light touch - feather soft and cautious against his knee. He opened his eyes, blinking away tears, to see Gabriel’s hand resting there, his head bowed against it - offering what comfort he could in the only manner he knew how. Crowley’s heart ached with guilt, and sympathy, and gratitude, and a dozen nameless emotions that all seemed to overwhelm him at once. 

He couldn’t speak a word. All he could do was reach out to place a gentle, reassuring hand on Gabriel’s head, his thumb stroking slowly, soothingly through the fine hair at the back of the archangel’s neck. 

“I’m all right,” he said, the words coming out thick and hoarse and thoroughly unconvincing. “I’m all right…” 

For a few sweet, selfish moments, Crowley allowed himself to take comfort from Gabriel’s quiet, simple support. He asked no questions, demanded no response - just knelt there at Crowley’s side, offering gentle contact, and wordless understanding. When Crowley could no longer bear the fact that this traumatized, broken creature whose abuse  _ he had facilitated _ was feeling sorry for  _ him _ … he gently, awkwardly patted Gabriel’s shoulder, pushing him back just a little. 

“Hey,” he said, one hand touching Gabriel’s jaw and tilting his head up. “Let me see. He said he was leaving, but I heard him out there a while longer. Did he hurt you?” 

Gabriel’s faltering gaze and soft intake of breath were rather telling, but he shook his head, eyes turned toward the floor. “N-no, sir,” he whispered. 

Crowley inspected Gabriel’s face, noting the bruises forming there from the blows he’d witnessed. “Can’t do anything about that yet,” he said. “He’ll have me heal you before sending you back, or do it himself… and it’s not  _ that _ bad. Not yet anyway.” 

“No, sir,” Gabriel agreed, quiet and subdued. 

Crowley winced. “You don’t have to call me that,” he said. “Really rather you didn’t.”

Gabriel looked up at him then, anxious and imploring. “I have to,” he insisted, flinching slightly as if expecting retaliation for the contradiction. “He - he said…”

“He’s not here,” Crowley repeated firmly, with a little half-shrug. “He won’t know.” 

Gabriel stared at him, silently dubious. 

“You know… he doesn’t know  _ everything _ , Gabriel.” 

Gabriel swallowed. “He - he does,” he insisted, hushed and fearful. “Somehow, he always…”

“He doesn’t know I’m awake right now,” Crowley pointed out, one brow lifted in subtle challenge, holding Gabriel’s gaze with the barest beginnings of a secretive smile. 

Gabriel blinked, lips parted, visibly stunned as he considered Crowley’s point. Then he looked back up at Crowley, awed and knowing. 

“So… his powers don’t work on you?” Gabriel guessed, frowning as he tried to work it out. His eyes widened, a trace of hope in his hushed words. “He’s so powerful, but… you’re more powerful than he thinks.” 

Crowley shrugged, uneasy with the archangel’s focused attention, as well as the direction the conversation seemed to be heading. “Maybe...”

_ “ _ And… you don’t  _ want _ him to hurt me,” Gabriel continued, words rising and accelerating as he went on. “You… try to make him stop, whenever you can, maybe… maybe _ you _ could overpower him…” 

“ _ No _ .” Crowley’s tone was sharper than he meant it to be, and Gabriel flinched. Crowley winced, and shook his head, softening his next words. “Not so sure about that, he’s… pretty powerful.” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, quick and anxious. “I - I shouldn’t have - a-asked you to…”

“No, it’s all right…”

Crowley reached out to take Gabriel’s lifted, trembling hand, squeezing it gently, stilling it. The sick heat of shame crept over him as he desperately sought a means to somehow reassure Gabriel, without exposing the secrets that had ensured his and Aziraphale’s survival thus far. He shrugged again, waiting until Gabriel met his gaze to give him a rueful half-smile. 

“Can’t blame you for asking.” 

Gabriel let out a soft, shaky breath. 

Crowley studied him, taking in the unguarded emotions that played across the archangel’s face - mingled relief and disappointment, but also sorrow and...  _ concern _ . 

“You can’t possibly have finished the chores he gave you,” he remarked, thoughtful. 

Gabriel gasped softly, looking up at him in alarm and immediately moving as if to get to his feet. 

“I-I’m sorry, I…” 

“No, no, that’s… not m’point,” Crowley said, hushed and soothing, tugging on his hand just enough to keep him where he was - and Gabriel settled obediently back onto his knees, searching Crowley’s face with anxious, questioning eyes. “You know how he is… what he’ll do… and you still stopped what he’d given you to do and  _ came in here _ … checking on  _ me _ .” 

Gabriel seemed to understand at last… and all at once,  _ he _ appeared self-conscious, dropping his gaze. “I thought he’d hurt you,” he explained simply. 

Crowley felt a swift rush of grateful affection, an ache in his throat as he swallowed slowly. 

“So wrong,” he whispered. 

Gabriel looked up at him, wary and worried. 

Crowley just shook his head, giving Gabriel a soft, sad smile. “Everything he’s ever said about you. You - you don’t deserve this. Not any of it.” 

Gabriel winced; the doubt in his eyes just before he dropped his gaze was heartbreaking. Then he looked back up at Crowley, solemn and sorrowful. 

“Neither do you.” 

The soft, simple reply was fucking  _ devastating _ .

The innocent certainty in Gabriel’s words struck Crowley like a blow, taking his breath. He couldn’t quite suppress a flinch - his guilt intensified by the knowledge that the reflex would in no way give him away, or cause Gabriel any suspicion. Gabriel was looking up at Crowley with such awe, such gratitude, and an ever-increasing, deeply troubling  _ trust _ , in his wide-open, dangerously expressive gaze. 

Crowley’s eyes fell again, regretfully, on Gabriel’s bruised cheek. Nothing he could do about that, until Aziraphale returned - not without giving away the fact that he was protected from Aziraphale’s mental influence, and thereby risking _ losing _ that protection. 

But… perhaps there were other things he could do. 

Crowley lifted Gabriel’s hand carefully between them, avoiding touching the cuff, but waving his free hand toward it, frowning with concentration, as he healed away the burns beneath it, and the other cuff as well. 

Gabriel gasped with dismay, instinctively jerking his hand away - and then immediately offered it back, flinching as if expecting punishment. 

“Hey, easy,” Crowley said, soft with concern, holding up both hands in an appeasing gesture. “Easy, archangel, I’m not gonna… I just wanted to help…” 

Gabriel just kept his head bowed, his hand extended toward Crowley in clear, urgent submission. When it became clear that Crowley was not going to take his hand back, Gabriel wrapped both arms around his torso, bowing low over his knees, trembling. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” 

Crowley took in his abruptly altered demeanor with bewildered dismay. He bit his lip, frowning in a moment’s indecision, before sliding off the edge of the bed and kneeling facing Gabriel.

“What is it?” he asked, soft and coaxing. “What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything…”

“I - I p-pulled away from - from you,” Gabriel gasped out, shivering, shoulders folded inward as if braced for a blow. “I’m sorry, I - he’ll be angry that you healed me, but - I sh-shouldn’t have, I - could have hurt you. If the cuffs had - had touched your hand, the - the blessing…” He shook his head, drawing in a shuddering breath and frowning. “I’m not supposed to pull away from you, anyway. You - have the right to… you can - if you want to…” He held out a trembling hand again toward Crowley, keeping it at a careful distance this time. 

Crowley felt sick. 

“ _ Gabriel _ ,” he said, soft and firm, his hands planted firmly and visibly against his own thighs, as he ducked his head to try and catch the archangel’s gaze. “I’m not going to touch you at all if you don’t want me to. All right? You don’t have to let me. I just… was just trying to help, that’s all. But if you don’t want me to, then… I won’t.”

Gabriel looked up at him, uncertain, his breath rapid and shallow in the quiet. 

Crowley offered him a soft, sad smile that he hoped was reassuring, though he felt like weeping himself. 

“I won’t be angry,” he promised softly, the smile fading from his lips, holding Gabriel’s gaze with solemn intensity. “You... you shouldn’t have to let  _ anyone _ touch you.” 

Gabriel blinked, staring at Crowley for a long moment - before reaching out a swift, desperate hand toward Crowley’s - faltering before quite touching. His pleading eyes were wary, glancing at the cuff around his wrist - before looking up to meet Crowley’s gaze, silently begging him to accept the gesture.

Crowley could do nothing else. 

The moment he took Gabriel’s hand, the archangel immediately lowered his head against it. His lips parted to speak, but all that came out was a deep sob of relief as he bowed his body over Crowley’s knees. 

“Thank you,” Crowley heard him whisper at last. “Thank you, sir,  _ thank you _ …”

Crowley cautiously wrapped his free arm around Gabriel’s shoulders, still and firm and soothing, until he felt Gabriel’s trembling begin to subside, his breath becoming slower and more even. Then, he gently lifted the hand that Gabriel held, guiding his head up so that he could talk to him again. 

“He won’t know I healed your wrists,” he assured the archangel quietly with a regretful grimace. “By the time he gets back, they’ll be burned again anyway.” 

“N-not as bad,” Gabriel whispered, wincing a little at contradicting Crowley, though at least he no longer seemed to be expecting to get smacked for it. 

Crowley just shrugged. “A slight difference that he won’t notice, because he won’t be looking for it,” he explained. “He won’t consider that I might have healed you. He thinks I’m asleep. He might glance at your wrists and think, ‘Hmm, thought they’d be worse by now’ - but that’s all.” 

Gabriel frowned. “It won’t… make him suspect that you weren’t really asleep?” 

“Nah.” Crowley shook his head, gently dismissive. “People generally accept the explanation they’re presented with… the one that fits best with their existing assumptions. And  _ his _ existing assumption is… that he can still make me sleep.” 

A deep sense of unease settled in Crowley’s chest as other implications of his explanation occurred to him. 

_ Gabriel’s existing assumption is that Aziraphale’s the most powerful being in the universe. So he assumes fighting back is useless.  _

_ He accepts the explanation he’s presented with.  _

_ Unless... someone presents him with a new one.  _

Crowley watched closely as Gabriel considered Crowley’s words, and wondered just how far his mind might take them. He braced himself as the light of realization dawned in Gabriel’s eyes - unsure whether he’d be horrified or relieved if the archangel did manage to put all the right pieces in all the right places. 

He didn’t. 

He looked up at Crowley. “So… you’re not even lying, really,” he concluded. “You’re just… using his own conclusions. Letting his own mind do the work.” 

Crowely gave a little half-nod. 

“That’s… kinda brilliant,” Gabriel acknowledged, impressed, a smile of admiration slowly brightening on his lips. 

Crowley had never felt so low. 

Gabriel’s smile fell slightly. “But… if he came back like,  _ right now _ …”

“He won’t. He’s going to be gone quite a while,” Crowley assured him. “I sent him to a place he won’t find. Owner passed on a while back. Turns out he was a lout who cheated his customers, his wife, and everyone he ever spoke to. ‘S been making the best dark chocolate coffees in Hell, now, for nearly fifteen years, though he doesn’t exactly use  _ coffee _ anymore.” He grimaced. “Or chocolate.” 

Crowley shrugged. 

“Anyway, Aziraphale will look all over Moscow for this one little coffee shop… and then when he can’t find it, he’ll try to find a place that has something similar.” A wistful sadness crept over him as he concluded softly, “He won’t want to come back to me empty-handed.” 

Gabriel nodded slowly, with a tentative smile. “Sneaky,” he said with clear approval. “Brilliant and sneaky.” 

“Well…” Crowley shrugged a little, uneasy under the archangel’s praise. “Snake. Wily serpent and all that. Sort of in the job description.” 

Gabriel’s face fell. “I - I didn’t mean…” He drew in a shaky breath. “I wasn’t saying… because you’re a demon…” He winced. “Not that there’s anything  _ wrong _ with being a demon, I’m sorry, I…”

“Hey, easy now,” Crowley repeated softly, squeezing Gabriel’s hand. “I said it. Not you. All right?” 

Gabriel nodded unsteadily. “Y-yes, sir.” 

“‘S just Crowley. None of this ‘yes, sir; no, sir’ nonsense, yeah?” 

Gabriel nodded obediently. “Yes, Crowley.” 

Crowley sighed. 

Close enough. 

“I’m not gonna get angry with you. I’m not gonna hurt you,” Crowley said firmly. “Only way I would, would be if you tried to hurt me first. Attacked me or something. You’re not gonna attack me, are you?” 

Gabriel shook his head rapidly, “No, no, I wouldn’t…”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Crowley gently assured him. “So you don’t have to be afraid of me. All right?” 

Gabriel nodded, biting his lip, looking up into Crowley’s eyes, his searching gaze touched with hope. 

“You can speak freely to me. And I’m not gonna touch you unless you’re all right with it. Yeah?” 

Gabriel swallowed hard. “I - I am. All right with it,” he admitted, quiet and small. “Just - if you - don’t hurt me.”

Crowley offered him a soft, reassuring smile, nodding his encouragement for Gabriel’s finding the nerve to express what he wanted... though his heart felt just the slightest bit more shattered at the soft desperation in the archangel’s voice. 

“All right, then,” he agreed. “Now come on, let’s get up off this floor. Lots to do before Aziraphale gets back.” 

He started to rise, and Gabriel did too - then fell back to his knees, drawing in his breath through his teeth and wrapping one arm around his ribcage. 

Crowley winced. 

“Yeah, ‘s what I thought,” he remarked grimly. “You took a pretty solid kick to those ribs, didn’t you? For bloody fuck-all, too,” he muttered, quietly seething. “All things equal, you could take a hit like that no problem, I know. But with those cuffs on… does a bit more damage, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel bit his lip, nodding hesitantly. “Yeah,” he whispered, still clutching his side. He sounded a little breathless, a little lost - as if he still couldn’t quite make sense of the sort of pain his human corporation was capable of, without the protection provided by his archangelic essence.

Crowley put a careful arm around the middle of Gabriel’s back, under his arms, and gently helped him to his feet. “There we go,” he said, “That’s it. Sit right here and just rest for a tick, yeah?” 

Gabriel sat down on the side of the bed, glancing anxiously behind him and shifting toward the edge, as if he strongly suspected he shouldn’t be there. 

“Hey.” Crowley waited until Gabriel met his eyes to reach out a cautious, gentle hand to rest over Gabriel’s where it pressed against his sore ribs. “Let me fix it?” 

Gabriel hesitated, glancing between the spot where Crowley touched him and Crowley’s eyes with visible uncertainty. 

“He won’t know,” Crowley promised.

Gabriel swallowed slowly. “He’ll… assume it’s still there, since he’s… assuming you’re asleep. Assuming… there’s no one here to heal me.” 

“Right.” Crowley nodded, holding his gaze. 

Gabriel nodded at last. “O-okay,” he whispered, hesitantly lifting his hand from his side and leaving it exposed to Crowley’s attention. 

Crowley smiled, and pressed his hand gently over the sore spot, focusing his power on healing away the deep bruises and the fine crack left by the merciless force of Aziraphale’s kick. 

“Better?” Crowley asked once the work was done. 

Gabriel nodded. “Thank you, s-- Crowley.” He gave Crowley a shy, uncertain smile that faltered a bit with anxiety. 

“Take a minute,” Crowley advised. “Get your breath. Just rest a bit.” He was quiet a while, sitting with Gabriel, just waiting, before promising again firmly, “He won’t know. He can’t see it under your clothes.”

Gabriel frowned, hesitating before pointing out, “He… made me undress, before…”

“Yeah.” Crowley nodded. “And I told him I want you dressed. He won’t likely have you do that again, at least... in front of me,” he amended with a grimace, “He’ll either heal you himself of what’s left, or he’ll have me do it - and that’ll be that. Yeah?” 

Gabriel nodded again, letting out a shaky sigh. 

After a moment, something else occurred to Crowley - a question to which he wasn’t quite sure he wanted the answer... but his curiosity had always been his downfall. 

At least once, literally. 

“So… what’s with this ‘dove’ nonsense?” he asked. “Why’s he started calling you that?” 

He immediately regretted the question when he felt Gabriel’s body tense under his arm, a slight shiver passing through the archangel’s shoulders. 

“It’s all right,” he quickly retracted. “You don’t have to…”

“I’m supposed to be quiet,” Gabriel answered, hushed and haunted. “Meek, and obedient. Like a dove. Not supposed to m-make a sound any - any louder than…”

“Got it.” Crowley kept his voice low, his words short, to disguise the tremor of anger and disgust there. “Don’t have to talk about it. Hey, let’s just get up and get out of here, yeah?”

As they both rose to their feet, Crowley actually took a good look at Gabriel in the light, blinking in disbelief as he took in the way he was dressed. 

“And uh, incidentally, archangel... what the  _ bloody buggering fuck _ ’s he got you wearing?” He shook his head with a weary sigh. “I told him to give you something to wear. Should have been more specific. Should have expected as much, the pervy _ bastard _ ...” 

“It’s… the uniform of a Heavenly foot soldier,” Gabriel explained with quiet urgency, his tone making it clear how earnestly he wanted Crowley to understand. “Without rank, just… what an ordinary angel might wear…”

Crowley lifted a skeptical brow. “Doesn’t quite seem standard issue to me.” 

Gabriel lowered his gaze, his agitation visibly rising. “I - I don’t deserve that,” he blurted out. “To dress like one of Her soldiers, I - I was placed in charge, but that was wrong, I-I’m not a fighter, I - never earned - even _ this _ much…” 

The words were not his own, that much was clear. He was reciting by rote things that Aziraphale had told him, or made him say. Crowley’s heart sank, as he realized that some of it was true. Gabriel had fought in the Great Rebellion like all the rest of Heaven and Hell - but Crowley had always had the impression that his position was more an honorary title than anything else. The battlefield was more Michael’s domain. 

_ Words  _ had always been Gabriel’s weapon of choice. 

_ Until Aziraphale.  _

_ Meek and quiet as a dove… only allowed to speak with your express permission, or else he’s brutalized ‘til he shuts up… _

_ Knew just how to best disarm him, didn’t you, angel?  _

“Come on,” Crowley said, heading for the door with a leading wave of his hand. “Let’s get these chores of yours out of the way, so we can make better use of the time we’ve got.” 

Gabriel followed him out of the bedroom and into the living room, where Crowley found the first of the eight various bookshelves in the room, half-emptied, the top several shelves clean and shining with what was clearly an excessive amount of wood polish. He winced. 

Even the old Aziraphale,  _ his _ Aziraphale, would likely have been moved to violence by the thought of the dark, oily substance being transferred onto his books when they were returned to the shelves. 

Crowley thought for a moment. “What were his instructions, again,  _ exactly _ ?” 

Gabriel’s shoulders straightened, and he drew in a breath, looking not unlike a student about to be unexpectedly tested. 

“He said… take the things off the shelves. Clean the shelves. Put the things back on. Exactly where they were.” 

Crowley nodded slowly. 

_ Sadistic bastard of an angel, no wonder he can’t get it right…  _

“Here’s your problem,” he explained. “Besides… puddles of furniture polish and 100 years of books and papers halfway to dust by now.” He walked to the nearest shelf, brushing the dust off the edge of it with his finger. “You clean the shelves, but not the items that go on. So when you put ‘em all back… the dust off the books and things shakes off, and the shelves get all dusty again.” 

He glanced up at Gabriel, surveying his expression, trying to gauge his level of understanding. “See the problem with the instructions?” 

“Yeah.” Gabriel stared at the shelf, blinking with realization, a slight edge of resentment in his voice. “They’re stupid.” 

Crowley smiled with grim amusement. “They’re not, in fact,” he argued, shaking his head. “Actually quite clever of him. Pretty certain way to ensure you  _ don’t _ succeed.” 

Gabriel looked up at Crowley in alarm. “I - I didn’t mean that  _ Aziraphale _ is stupid, I wasn’t - wasn’t saying…”

“Say it if you like.” Crowley shrugged, keeping his tone mild and calm. “He deserves worse. And anyway… I’m not gonna tell him you said it. So he’s not gonna know.” He held Gabriel’s gaze, giving him a mischievous smile. 

“He’s not gonna know about _ this _ , either.” 

He snapped his fingers, and instantly the excess furniture polish and every speck of dust vanished - from the shelf Gabriel had started working on, and every other shelf in the room, as well as the objects upon them - which were now arranged in very precise order, as neat and tidy as Aziraphale could possibly expect from anyone unfamiliar with his peculiar methods of organization, which was… well, pretty much _ anyone _ . 

Crowley returned his attention to Gabriel, who was staring between the various shelves, turning to take them all in, eyes wide and lips parted in stunned disbelief. He looked up at Crowley with eyes brimming with mingled gratitude and trepidation. 

“ _ He won’t know _ ,” Crowley stated firmly, meeting his gaze dead on. “Unless you tell him. I know you sometimes think you need to - to confess,” he acknowledged softly, his suspicions confirmed by Gabriel’s very faint, very small nod. “ _ You _ didn’t do this. Didn’t do anything.  _ I _ did. You don’t need to confess _ someone else’s _ sins, do you?” 

Gabriel hesitated. “N-no,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly. 

Crowley pulled out a slightly  _ bigger _ gun to seal the deal. 

“You wouldn’t want to get  _ me _ into trouble... would you?” 

Gabriel’s eyes widened. “No, of course not!” he insisted. 

Crowley shook his head in agreement with him. “Only way he’ll know to get angry with me is if  _ you _ tell him. So you won’t. Right?” 

“Right,” Gabriel agreed. “I - I won’t say anything. But… I mean…” He hesitated biting his lip in anguished uncertainty. “If he  _ asks _ me…”

“He won’t know to ask,” Crowley reminded him. “Thinks I’ve been sleeping all this time, yeah?” 

Gabriel nodded slowly. He still seemed deeply unsure. 

“He doesn’t just…  _ know everything _ , archangel.”

“But… his powers…”

“That’s not one of them,” Crowley said firmly. “He can’t read your mind. He can’t know what’s happening when he’s not here.”

“Then… how does he know where I am?” 

“He doesn’t,” Crowley admitted, an uneasy feeling in his stomach as he wondered if he might be revealing too much - but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care as much as he might have a few days earlier. “He knows when you come to Earth, because he’s got a tracking spell on you that tells him. But he doesn’t know specifically  _ where _ you are on Earth.”

Gabriel frowned. “He said… the ring knows where the watch is…”

“Bollocks,” Crowley declared quietly. “That’s not a thing.”

“But… he said…”

“I  _ built  _ the bloody set, and I’m telling you - that’s not a thing.” 

Gabriel fell silent, watching Crowley with troubled, uncertain eyes. 

“He can’t use it to track you, or watch you, or hear you.” 

“Just… hurt me.” 

Crowley swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he admitted softly. He was quiet a moment before adding, “I’m gonna find a way to get it off you.” 

Gabriel was quiet. “It - wouldn’t matter if you did,” he said at last, soft and defeated. “He’d just come after me. He’s - come after me in Heaven before.”

Crowley nodded slowly. He’d managed to piece together as much. 

“He’d hurt them. The others,” Gabriel continued. “And… drag me back, so it’d all be for nothing. I can’t… I can’t let them get hurt because of me.” He swallowed, shaking his head sadly. “Michael, she - she only wants to help me…”

Crowley kept his words carefully level and measured, doing his best to betray nothing. 

“You don’t think Michael could hold her own?” 

Gabriel stared at Crowley in stunned disbelief. “ _ No _ ,” he said, his tone vaguely derisive, as if the answer should have been obvious. “Not against him. I mean… she’d last longer than  _ me _ , but… it won’t make any difference. He doesn’t have any weaknesses.” 

Crowley drew in a slow breath. 

“He’s got one,” he pointed out with grim resignation. “Otherwise he’d still be here right now.” 

Gabriel met Crowley’s eyes with worried understanding. “I don’t want  _ you _ to get hurt trying to help me, either.”

Crowley ignored the sentiment, continuing, “If I could keep him away from Heaven. If you could just…  _ stay there, without _ the watch, and _ never _ come back to Earth…”

Gabriel's expression was doubtful, but he didn’t argue or refuse to consider the idea. 

Of course… he probably didn’t dare. 

It didn’t matter. Crowley had to  _ try _ . 

“Come on,” he instructed, heading down the stairs.

Gabriel followed him - but then balked at the door to the backroom, backing up a few steps, shaking his head. He met Crowley’s eyes, silently pleading. 

“You don’t have to,” Crowley assured him. “Just gotta find the weapons. See if I can destroy them while he’s gone…”

“You can’t,” Gabriel blurted out, his arms anxiously hugging his body as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hovering in the doorway. “He - he blessed them. Like the cuffs.” 

Crowley froze, turning to stare at Gabriel, his heart sinking. 

“While I was sleeping?” he guessed. 

“Yeah,” Gabriel admitted, his expression quite unfairly guilty and ashamed, as if he’d had  _ any control whatsoever _ over what Aziraphale did while he was strung up and helpless and suffering. He lowered his head, his voice hoarse and dejected. “Sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” Crowley sighed, shaking his head. 

He tried the desk drawers anyway - unsurprised to find that they wouldn’t open under his hand, or the force of his attempt to miracle them open, either. 

“Warded it against me,” he muttered. 

He glanced at Gabriel, who had ventured just a couple of steps past the door, but remained within reach of it, arms crossed, wary eyes darting anxiously around the room. 

_ He could do it. Without the cuffs. Could tear through the warding like Christmas paper.  _

_ Remove Aziraphale’s blessing as if it’d never existed.  _

Gabriel’s gaze had settled with dread on the punishment bar that hung from the ceiling, his breath coming in rapid, panicked little gasps. 

_ And once he knew he could… he’d tear through us, next. Aziraphale and me.  _

_ Ripped to shreds… as we deserve. _

“Right, then. So - that’s a goal,” he decided aloud, shifting his gaze when Gabriel at last became aware that Crowley had been staring at him, and gave him a questioning look. “Get to the weapons. Destroy them. If I could do that, then he wouldn’t have the weapons, and he couldn’t…” 

He froze, realizing just before it was too late what had been about to pass his lips. He glanced over at Gabriel, who was staring at him with a puzzled frown, head tilted in confusion. 

“... couldn’t, uh… use the weapons,” Crowley finished weakly. “Which would be… more work. To uh… make more, or… or just use his hands, of course…”

Gabriel gave him a dubious look, one eyebrow raised, as if he not so very secretly thought Crowely to be stupid or insane. His terse, quiet words were edged with dread, and sent a cold chill down Crowley’s spine. 

“He...  _ likes _ using his hands.”

The archangel glanced uneasily toward the door, shifting on his feet and taking a slight step backward. 

“Can we just… can we not be here? If he comes back…”

“He won’t be back, not for a long while yet,” Crowley insisted.

Gabriel nodded, shuddering, drawing in an unsteady breath. “Okay,” he whispered in miserable acceptance of Crowley’s will. 

“Hey, it’s all right,” Crowley assured him, abandoning the desk and closing the distance between them, reaching out to gently take Gabriel’s arms, steadying him. His heart ached at the fine tremor he felt just under the surface of the archangel’s skin. “It’s all right. You’re all right.” 

Gabriel drew in a sharp breath, closing his eyes for a moment before staring helplessly down at the floor at Crowley’s feet. “I’m sorry, I’m just - I’m so…” His words trailed off, a lost and weary look in his eyes. 

“Tired,” Crowley realized, nodding with sympathy. “Bloody well exhausted, aren’t you? Of course you are.” He sighed. “Come on, then,” he relented. “We’ll go back up. Your chores are finished. Got time to rest a bit before he gets here, yeah?”

Gabriel nodded again, shoulders falling with grateful relief. 

Once back upstairs in the apartment, Crowley sank onto the sofa with a sigh of weary frustration. He supposed he had done all that he could for the moment. He needed to devise a plan. He needed to determine what resources he would need to acquire in order to break an angel’s blessing, to be able to safely handle the hellfire implements again - to be able to destroy them. 

If he could destroy the weapons… if he could get the watch off of Gabriel… then all that would stand between the archangel and freedom would be the fetters Aziraphale had locked around his  _ mind _ . There’d be little Aziraphale could do to physically harm him at that point - and that realization alone might be enough evidence to help convince Gabriel…

Crowley’s racing thoughts stuttered to a stop when Gabriel knelt quietly beside the sofa, leaning into it, his head resting against Crowley’s knee. His heart lurched with instinctive unease at the archangel’s nearness, and he reminded himself - a guilty reassurance - that Gabriel couldn’t have hurt him if he’d wanted to, right now. 

_ And he  _ doesn’t  _ want to. He needs you. He’s seeking comfort. He’s  _ grateful  _ to you, you selfish coward.  _

_ Fucking imposter’s what you are. _

_ Hell called you a traitor… seems they didn’t know how right they were.  _

“You - you can sit up here, if you like,” Crowley offered, feeling a bit awkward with the archangel kneeling at his feet. 

Gabriel pressed his head tighter against Crowley’s knee, shaking it slowly. He reached up a trembling hand, waiting until Crowley cautiously took it, and then brought it to the back of his head. 

Crowley stilled, stunned by the gesture. Then he swallowed down the ache in the back of his throat, and gently rubbed the back of the archangel’s neck, slow and soothing. 

“‘S all right,” he murmured. “It’s… it’s  _ gonna _ be.” 

Gabriel nodded in silent, automatic acceptance - though Crowley held little hope that he actually believed it. 

He wasn’t at all sure he believed it himself. 

“I’m so tired,” Gabriel murmured, his voice muffled against Crowley’s jeans. “Don’t know why I’m so…” He lifted his head, blinking as he met Crowley’s gaze. “I fell asleep,” he informed him, sounding a bit bewildered. “When I was here… all that time. And… I think it was the cuffs? Because… they make me… less… just  _ less _ ,” he concluded with a grimace. “But… since then, I… it’s happened a couple more times. Just for a couple minutes, but… even in Heaven,  _ without _ the cuffs… I… I don’t understand…”

“You’ve probably been bloody well worn out for months now,” Crowley pointed out with a regretful sigh “Under a lot of stress, yeah?” The words felt hollow and foolish, ludicrously insufficient, even as they left Crowley’s lips. “But… your body didn’t really know what it was missing ‘til you fell asleep, yeah? Had you ever even done that before?” 

“No.” Gabriel shook his head. He let out a heavy, weary breath, lowering his head. “I feel like… I could fall asleep right now.” 

“You can rest,” Crowley assured him, wishing he had more to offer. “Sleep if you like. I’ll keep an eye out, I’ll know when he’s coming back… and you’ll have warning. All right? You can sleep.” 

“You’ll know?” Gabriel frowned, uncertain. “H-how?” 

Crowley gave him a little wink. “One of  _ my _ special powers. It’s all right. Just rest.” 

Gabriel studied his face for a long moment, and Crowley held his gaze, maintaining his expression of calm certainty, until at last Gabriel visibly relaxed, letting out a weary, heavy sigh. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, barely more than a breath, settling against the sofa and Crowley’s leg, one hand lightly curled around Crowley’s knee.

Crowley had seen that hand sparking with celestial power, capable of striking down any who dared oppose him with barely more than a thought. Now, it was cautious, faltering, barely daring to touch. Any suggestion of power within Gabriel’s hands had vanished, swallowed up in fearful, trembling uncertainty. 

After a few minutes, Gabriel’s hand fell away, hanging loose and relaxed at his side - his breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep. Crowley gently rested his own hand at the back of Gabriel’s neck, stroking slowly, soothingly as he mulled over what his next move should be… his mind working to devise some means of saving this fearsomely powerful, desperately broken creature kneeling at his feet, entrusting him with such misplaced trust, such aching vulnerability. 

Crowley knew that if he found a way  _ right this instant _ to save Gabriel - and then spent the rest of his life in the archangel’s service, attempting to make up for the damage he’d both done and allowed - he never, ever could. 

_ But I’ll make it stop. I’ll find a way. I got you into this - and I’ll get you out.  _

Crowley sat there in the quiet, thinking and planning - watching over Gabriel, and waiting to warn him of Aziraphale’s return. 

_ At least that’s one promise you know you can keep… _

*****************************************************************************

_ Crowley disconnected the call, his heart already aching with missing his friend, and the uncertainty of not knowing when he might see her again. It was a bittersweet conversation - a reassurance that at least for now, Anathema was on his side, and in his corner, and willing to help him.  _

_ He knew he couldn’t do this without her help.  _

_ He also knew… her help would not be enough.  _

_ Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, concentrating on steadying his breathing… on slowing his pounding pulse and racing thoughts. He needed focus for what came next - a delicate business indeed.  _

_ A wordless conversation… a silent negotiation. _

_ Crowley had always had a rather complex relationship with time.  _

_ He’d learned a long time ago how to reach out and feel for the edges of her boundaries… to gently coax his way into communication with her, to ask with enough deference, enough reverence, that she’d listen and yield him just a few minutes - just enough freedom from her restraints to save his own life, or Aziraphale’s…  _

_ Or just possibly, once in an eternal existence… the entire world.  _

_ Now, appealing to their rather complex and oddly intimate history, Crowley asked her for just the slightest favor. Not to halt for him again, not to wait and give him extra time, above what any other living being received from her.  _

_ All he was asking for was just... a  _ glimpse _.  _

_ Crowley knew he was unlikely to be left alone, once Gabriel left the bookshop. He already had the beginning stirrings of a plan taking shape in his mind - ways in which he could get some time  _ without _ Aziraphale hovering over his shoulder, watching his every move. But he knew that the very first time he got caught in his quiet schemings would be the  _ last _ time he’d be allowed the chance.  _

_ He needed a warning system.  _

_ A simple tracking spell would be useless against a being who could travel the distance of the entire planet in a moment of time. The sort of magic Aziraphale had used to monitor Gabriel’s travel between planes wouldn’t work, either, as Aziraphale’s movements were mostly restricted to Earth, anyway. Crowley was helpless, and helpless to  _ help Gabriel _... bound to be caught in his deception, if he couldn’t find a means of…  _ prescience. 

_ A way, once he’d convinced the angel to leave him alone for a while... to  _ know _ when he would be back.  _

_ He sat on the edge of the bed in the stillness, eyes closed, drifting into her domain and offering her reverence and gratitude - and once he’d made contact, established a familiar but cautious communication... Crowley pressed his luck.  _

_ Just a little. _

_ He didn’t ask her for just _ one time _ , but any time and every time, until he’d managed to accomplish his purpose, and restore Gabriel’s freedom and safety - and to escape Aziraphale’s influence, himself.  _

_ A means to track Aziraphale, when he was away - not through physical proximity, but through the minutes left until he’d be near Crowley again. _

_ As Aziraphale inflicted one more vicious atrocity against the suffering archangel downstairs, in the quiet stillness of the upstairs bedroom… Crowley and time came to an agreement.  _

_ Crowley at last opened his eyes, feeling a sense of relief and reassurance.  _

_ He had greater resources at his disposal than Aziraphale realized - and he was going to find a way to make the suffering stop.  _

_ ************************************************************************************ _

“Gabriel. Gabriel,  _ wake up _ .” 

The sharp, soft urgency in Crowley’s words drew Gabriel from sleep, and he blinked up at Crowley in momentary confusion as his eyes came into focus on large, golden ones very near to his own. 

“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Crowley said, his tone even and calm. “It’s all right. Your work is done. Everything’s put to rights. I need to go back in and pretend to sleep. Did he tell you what to do when you finished?” 

Gabriel considered the question as the sleepy haze cleared from his mind, then shook his head. 

“He didn’t think I’d... I never have,” he admitted with a rueful, anxious little smile. 

Crowley returned it, warm and sympathetic. “Well, time to impress him,” he declared. “Maybe you’re just finishing up, yeah?” 

As Gabriel leaned back to allow him to rise, Crowley went to the stool where he’d left the cleaning supplies once he’d miraculously completed Gabriel’s chores, picking them up and bringing them back to place them in Gabriel’s hands. He helped him to his feet with a firm, gentle hand at his elbow, steadying him, before meeting his gaze, level and warm and inexplicably calming. 

“It’s going to be all right,” Crowley assured him. “Don’t tell him anything he’s got no other way of knowing. You finished your chores. You haven’t disturbed me - haven’t heard a sound from me. Yeah?” 

Gabriel nodded, his mind racing as he took in Crowley’s gentle reminders, his heart rate accelerating as his mind cleared, and filled swiftly with the realization that  _ Aziraphale was on his way _ . 

By the time Aziraphale arrived, Crowley had returned to the bedroom, and all was still and quiet, only the faint glow of the bedside lamp coming through the cracked open door. Gabriel stood next to the shelf he had started with, the cloth and polish in his hands, waiting for Aziraphale with his head humbly bowed. 

“Standing about idle, are we?” Aziraphale remarked sharply as he entered the room, a steaming paper cup in one hand. “That’s no way to finish your chores, is it?” 

Gabriel swallowed hard, taking a breath and shifting the cloth to the same hand as the polish, then lifting his finger to his lips. 

Aziraphale waited until he was standing directly in front of Gabriel, a cold light of anticipation in his eyes as he smiled. 

“Yes?” 

“I - I’ve finished the tasks you gave me, sir. I - I hope to your satisfaction.” 

Aziraphale blinked, visibly taken aback. “ _ Really _ ,” he replied, exaggeratedly impressed. “Well, then. I’m going to deliver this coffee to Crowley, and then we’ll just see what sort of job you’ve done, shall we?” 

But he didn’t turn his attention to the shelves just yet. Instead, he took the supplies from Gabriel’s hand, vanishing them with a snap of his fingers, before taking Gabriel firmly by the arm... and leading him to stand directly in front of the low stool. 

Gabriel’s stomach plummeted, and his lips parted to protest, to plead. He bit down on his lower lip, stilling the words that would have certainly doomed him. 

_ The work is done. Crowley did it. He  _ knows  _ Crowley did it, you’re in so much trouble for letting him do it, stupid, stupid, should have just done as you were told…  _

Aziraphale firmly pressed down on his shoulder, wordlessly instructing him to kneel, and Gabriel obeyed, eyes helplessly locked onto the stool as Aziraphale crouched down behind him, reaching around to gently take Gabriel’s hands and press them palms down against its flat surface. 

Then he lifted one hand to run through Gabriel’s hair… the other sliding slowly up the back of his thigh, edging beneath the kilt and teasingly pushing it up as he went. 

Gabriel shivered at the touch, his breath stolen by panic as he struggled to keep still, to stifle the soft pleas that wanted to spill forth. 

“When you believe that your tasks are done,” Aziraphale instructed softly into his ear. “You will kneel here, just like this, your hands at rest to indicate that you are ready for me to... inspect your work.” His hand slid up between Gabriel’s legs, his other fist clenching in Gabriel’s hair and drawing his head back against Aziraphale’s shoulder, his tone hardening with malice. “And to punish you, if you’ve failed.” 

Gabriel nodded, swallowing back a helpless sob, caught between the vivid memory of Aziraphale’s threat to crush his hands, now exposed and vulnerable to whatever whim might cross the principality’s mind - and the far more present, intimate threat of his grasping, greedy fingers, exploring their way beneath Gabriel’s useless, flimsy clothing. 

“Y-yes, sir,” he whispered, pleading words choked with tears. “I-I will, sir…” 

“Very good.” 

Aziraphale released him at last with a soft kiss to his temple, then rose to his feet and walked into the bedroom, leaving Gabriel alone with the quaking echoes of his panic. 

He could hear Aziraphale’s voice - the soft menace replaced by warm affection, as he coaxed Crowley from a false sleep - and then Crowley’s answering voice, hoarse and sleepy and utterly convincing. There was soft laughter, a softer exchange of words, and then a low hum of appreciation - presumably as Crowley tasted the coffee. 

Then, Aziraphale returned to the living room, Crowley padding sleepily behind him and settling into the sofa. Gabriel met his gaze for a moment, finding it devoid of any sort of recognition, any sort of wordless communication, and stared down at his hands again, resisting the impulse to crawl the short distance between the stool and the sofa and fall at Crowley’s feet once more. 

Aziraphale paced toward the shelves, his hands folded neatly behind his back until he stopped before the first one. He snapped his fingers, and all at once his hands were covered in a set of thin, white gloves - not the hellfire-proof ones that were so familiar to Gabriel, but ones more suited to the sort of inspection he was about to perform. 

“Don’t know why you’re bothering,” Crowley murmured, a note of amusement in his languid words. “Place hasn’t looked this good in a century, angel.” 

“Well, appearances can certainly be deceiving, can’t they?” Aziraphale countered, giving Gabriel a malicious grin, a spark of cruel amusement in his eyes. “We’ll just see.” 

He trailed a finger along the nearest shelf, then examined it, frowning critically. He carefully lifted a couple of the books on the shelf - then withdrew them, paging through them idly for a moment before placing them back on the shelf. 

_ He didn’t tell you to clean the books too. Maybe he didn’t want you to touch them. Maybe he’s going to be  _ angry _ that you touched them…  _

_ Maybe Crowley fucked you over again.  _

Gabriel ventured another look up at Crowley, who was sipping from the steaming cup and studiously ignoring him in favor of watching Aziraphale, his slowly blinking eyes betraying nothing but a sort of distant curiosity. 

_ Maybe he meant to.  _

Aziraphale’s inspection of Gabriel’s work was excruciatingly long and careful. Gabriel watched him when he could, and focused his eyes on his own hands when Aziraphale moved out of his line of sight. 

_ Please… please, don’t… please don’t know, please don’t be angry,  _ please _ …  _

Gabriel drew in a shaky breath, the words of confession rising to his lips, swelling up his throat on the surface of his panic. He glanced up at Crowley, who was watching him calmly now, while Aziraphale’s back was turned. When their eyes met, Crowley gave him a nearly imperceptible shake of his head as he took another sip of his coffee. He glared down at it, making a face - which immediately shifted to a bright, appreciative smile as his eyes lifted to meet Aziraphale’s, just as the angel turned around. 

All at once - Gabriel felt a little better. 

_ He can’t know. He can’t know unless you tell him.  _

“Well.” 

Gabriel flinched slightly as Aziraphale’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. 

“It seems you’ve surprised me, my dove.” 

Gabriel kept still and unresistant as Aziraphale came around to crouch beside him, fingers sliding down to trail up and down the middle of his back. He closed his eyes, swallowing down his terror - obediently meeting Aziraphale’s eyes when a hand firmly turned his face up toward him. 

Aziraphale was smiling, his eyes warm with pleasant surprise. 

“You’ve done very well, Gabriel,” he stated softly. “It seems against all odds you’ve finally managed to get it right.” 

Gabriel’s shoulders fell with relief, and he nodded wearily, gasping. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “Th-thank you, sir.” He glanced past Aziraphale for the briefest of moments, finding Crowley’s gaze still sleepy and mildly bored - but there was a faint light of triumph in his eyes, a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth as he lowered his gaze and took another sip. 

“Thank you,” Gabriel repeated, then lowered his eyes, breathless with relief, his heart swelling with the warmth of gratitude… and hope. 

“ _ Thank you _ .”


	29. Chapter 29

Hey, guys :) 

Check out this really haunting, sad, lovely art by the amazing and talented ThisISGreat!!! <3 <3 <3 

Maybe just slightly NSFW? I suppose depending upon where you work? ;) lol 

Poor Gabriel, Aziraphale just can't resist compounding his humiliation at every turn... and the level of detail, the bruises and other marks, the stool... such beautiful work <3 <3 <3 

Anyway... leave a comment to let him know how much you like it!!! 

Aaaand onto the chapter... enjoy!!! <3 

Gabriel made a point of making eye contact with those angels he passed on his way to Michael’s office, offering brief, warm greetings and bright smiles that were readily returned, with perhaps a trace of starstruck awe at the unexpected, positive attention - and more importantly,  _ without _ the stunned, wary suspicion he’d seen there in recent weeks. 

It made him a little uncomfortable, the way they looked at him now, much as they had  _ before _ his entire reality had collapsed into ruin, the way they whispered with hushed excitement after he passed. 

_ “He  _ talked _ to me, made eye contact and everything, did you see that?” _

_ “Things must be looking up for Heaven again, right? He was smiling…” _

_ “Sharp suit… he seems like his old self again. Only… nicer?”  _

It was certainly better than the sorts of whispers he’d heard about him in the halls not so very long ago. 

He knocked on Michael’s door and waited. She’d be expecting him, he knew - perhaps not this very moment, but sometime soon. For the past several weeks, Gabriel had begun regularly, voluntarily reporting to her at least once a week, while making sure to vary the days and times of his arrival.

The more predictable a pattern he established, the more Michael’s suspicions would be raised when Aziraphale’s call inevitably disrupted it.

“Come in,” Michael called through the door.

Gabriel entered her office, quietly closing the door behind him. 

Michael glanced up at him with a smile that was distracted but warm, not lifting her pen from the page on which she was writing. 

“Give me a minute, I’m almost finished with this.” 

In a previous life, Gabriel might have been offended at being put off, even briefly. He might have insisted that whatever she was working on could wait, what he had to say was _ important _ ; he should be treated with more  _ respect _ . 

He simply nodded as he sat down in the chair across from her desk, folded his hands in his lap, and quietly waited. 

He’d become very good at quietly waiting. 

“Have you been settling in well? Since your return?”

Michael’s tone was light and casual, as if she was just filling the silence while she finished up whatever she was working on - but Gabriel didn’t miss the sharp interest in her eyes as they darted up to his for just an instant. 

“Yeah, no problems,” he replied with a bright, confident smile. “Just like… falling off a bike? I think the humans say, though…” He frowned, shaking his head a little. “I don’t know what that means, exactly, or why they’d want to do that.” 

Gabriel had tried a human bicycle once, near the time when they’d first been invented, and while he hadn’t fallen off, he’d always much preferred the rush of soaring on celestial wings, or the steady swiftness of his own two legs. 

He stifled a sigh, glancing around the room for some sort of target at which to aim his restless energy. 

_ Contrary to your opinion, the world does  _ not _ revolve around  _ you _ , Gabriel.  _

The scathing words in the back of his mind had never once passed Michael’s lips. 

_ You will wait until I’m ready to deal with you… and unless you want that to be  _ particularly _ unpleasant, you’ll wait in patient silence…  _

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing slowly. 

_ No. She’s not him. Not  _ like _ him.  _

_ He’s not here.  _

Gabriel drew in a breath and rose to his feet, his heart racing. He met Michael’s curious gaze with a smile that he knew was too bright, too desperate, then looked around the room swiftly for some focal point on which to pin his attention. 

Most of Michael’s office was spare and plain, focused around functionality more than appearance. Gabriel nodded toward the one wall that bore any sort of adornment - Michael’s extensive and impressive collection of armor and weaponry, accumulated through her many millennia of military leadership. 

Gabriel nodded toward that wall. “May I?” 

Michael eyed him briefly, dubious, but then waved a hand vaguely toward her collection before continuing her work. 

“Sure, go ahead.” 

Gabriel turned his back toward her, examining the various weapons arrayed on the wall instead, and felt his panic begin to subside, his breathing and heart rate returning to normal, as he focused on the details of the items she’d chosen to display. 

A broad shield, battered and scarred from the attacks it had deflected as it protected Michael in battle. A simple sword that Gabriel recognized as the sort issued to angels when they first began to train for military service, covered in innumerable scratches from much use, but lovingly polished to a flawless sheen. Battle axes and spears and blades of various shapes and sizes - most celestial, a few infernal - each one its own specific piece of the personal history which had led Michael to the place of leadership she now held. 

Gabriel’s eye was drawn to one particular item - so tiny that it was nearly swallowed up in the sea of much larger, more impressive weapons. 

A single bronze bullet, displayed on a small, clear shelf very near the center of the wall. 

Gabriel peered at it with narrowed eyes, moving in closer to see it better and reaching out a hand toward it. 

“You don’t want to touch that.” Michael’s warning was mild and sharp at the same time, and Gabriel immediately froze, turning his questioning gaze to meet her wry smile. “It’s hellfire, brother.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched as he turned his eyes back to the unassuming little piece of metal, and swiftly withdrew his hand. He swallowed hard, steadying his breath and his voice before he responded, managing to keep his voice calm and curious and a little teasing. 

“Why do you have a hellfire bullet on your wall, Michael?” 

The archangel general at last set down her pen and leaned back in her chair, focusing her attention on her brother with a smile. 

“Because I survived it.” 

Gabriel frowned, leaning in to examine it more closely, but careful not to touch it. “It hasn’t been fired.” 

Michael’s smile took on a faraway quality. 

“I know.” 

There was a wistfulness to her voice, a distant softness in her eyes. 

Gabriel knew her well enough to know there was a story there, one that he was quite interested in hearing - but he also knew the look of a secret when he saw it. She didn’t seem inclined to talk about it, so he wasn’t going to ask. 

At least the memory seemed to be of the sort that made her happy - even if it was perhaps touched with sorrow, as well. . 

“So,” she said, focusing her gaze on him with a soft sigh and gesturing toward the seat he’d vacated. “How’s your week been so far?” 

“Not bad,” he replied, returning her smile as he sat down facing her again. “I finally finished digging my way out from under the mountain of paperwork that piled up while I was away. Everything’s been completed and sent off to the right angels in the right departments.” 

Michael nodded in silent approval. 

“I’ve had several meetings already this week with department heads under my supervision.”

“Which department heads?” Michael asked, taking up her pen again and pulling a ledger from the side of her desk, opening it in front of her, her pen poised to write. 

“Laviel, who oversees records. Arakiel, in Earth observation. And Malaki in Human Perception Redirection…”

“PR, yes.” Michael nodded. “Very good. How did those meetings go?” 

“They turned in their reports and I spoke with them individually, gave them some feedback and hopefully pointed them in the right directions where they had questions…”

_ No one needs to hear  _ anything  _ you have to say… _

“That’s excellent news, Gabriel, I’m so glad.” Michael’s reassuring smile and warm words drove out the echoes of Aziraphale’s contempt, at least for the moment. “You seem to be doing much better since your return. I was…  _ troubled _ , but… whatever you’ve been doing, you  _ do _ seem much more  _ yourself  _ lately.” 

“I feel better.” He nodded. 

It wasn’t  _ quite _ a lie. 

Things  _ were _ significantly better than they had been - thanks to Crowley. 

“You’ve still been spending quite a bit of time away from Heaven,” Michael pointed out, her smile fading a little into uncertainty. “About… half your time, I’d say, these past few weeks. And when you’re gone… I can’t ever seem to detect your location.” 

She paused, and Gabriel forced himself to hold her searching gaze. 

“Should I be concerned?” 

“No,” he answered simply, firmly. “I’m really okay, Michael. I appreciate your concern, but… you were right. I was an absolute fucking  _ wreck _ after… things didn’t go the way we expected. After… we were all so wrong.” 

Michael’s brow creased slightly in response to the blunt words, but she nodded slowly, unable to deny the truth of them. 

“I’ve been working through some things,” Gabriel explained. “Learning, about humanity and Earth. And… you can’t find me while I’m away because I don’t want to be found. Or followed. Or  _ watched _ while I’m trying to figure things out. And… if you could find me… all of that would be happening by now. Wouldn’t it?” 

Michael gave him a wordless, wry smile and a slight conciliatory tilt of her head. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Gabriel smiled, not wanting her to feel attacked or accused. 

It was just the way Heaven worked; they both knew it. 

“It’s just that all of this is kind of personal. I’m sure you can understand. But as you can see, I’m doing better. I’m  _ getting _ better. I’m learning a lot.” 

“Your… attentiveness when you  _ are _ present, and the quality of your work, speak for themselves,” Michael acknowledged with a nod. 

She hesitated a moment, glancing down at her desk, then very deliberately setting down her pen and closing her ledger before meeting his gaze again, direct and solemn. 

“Have you crossed paths with the traitors, by any chance?” 

Gabriel’s stomach seemed to both plummet to his feet, and rise up into his throat to choke him at the same time. He felt a cold prickling at the back of his neck, his heart and mind both racing with alarm. 

_ There’s a reason she’s asking.  _

_ Can’t get caught in a lie… _

“Yes,” he admitted readily, holding her gaze. “Just once or twice. They… well, they know a lot more than we do, don’t they? About Earth and humanity, which - have been the focus of my interest these days. I had questions.” 

“So you approached them?” Michael leaned forward, one hand resting against her desk, eyes wide with alarm. “Gabriel, they could have killed you!” 

“They didn’t, obviously.” He gave her a rueful, apologetic smile. “I mean… they did answer my questions, but... they weren’t thrilled that I’d shown up.” He looked away, allowing a bit of his anxiety to show in his expression when he looked up at her again. “They were suspicious. There were… threats. Very vivid indications of what they’d do if I ever came back.” 

Michael stared at him with mounting horror - that then faded as she considered his story. 

“But… you did go back, at least once,” she concluded. “And… they didn’t hurt you?” 

“There might have been a little bit of, uh… physical intimidation,” he admitted. “I tried to approach with control and confidence, but they were the ones, er… throwing  _ my _ weight around. So to speak. ‘We told you not to come back here,’ and all that.” 

He winced, rubbing at the back of his neck, as if at the memory of having it slammed into the nearest wall.

It wasn’t a difficult memory to conjure. 

He looked up at her, solemn and pointed. 

“They _ really _ don’t want to be bothered.”

Michael stared at him, her gaze level and troubled. “Probably best you  _ don’t do that _ , then.” 

Gabriel nodded. “You’re right. It was… pretty fucking scary, I’ll admit.” 

He realized all at once that he was absently rubbing his wrist, along the edge of the watch, and swiftly stopped, folding his hands in front of him again, and trying not to feel the phantom echoes of Aziraphale’s fist in his hair, the lash of the whip against his legs. 

“Just… be careful, please,” Michael concluded with a sigh. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“It won’t,” Gabriel promised. “I’ll be careful.  _ More _ careful,” he conceded with an apologetic grin. “I  _ am _ learning things that will help us to lead Heaven better,” he reminded her. “The only reason I’m doing this…  _ any _ of this, is so that I can be the sort of a leader that Heaven needs.” 

_ You were never the sort of leader Heaven needed. You never could be.  _

_ You’re unworthy of Heaven, unworthy of Her.  _

_ Unworthy of anything but to serve at the feet of your betters.  _

“As long as you’re safe,” Michael said, clear affection underlying the severe warning of her words. “That said…” She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head as she surveyed him, “you do seem more focused, more…  _ balanced _ , these days. All right, then. Carry on as you’ve been doing...  _ without  _ visits to traitors who don’t want to be visited?”

“Understood.” Gabriel nodded firmly. 

“And… please do come to me if you find yourself struggling again?” Michael’s tone softened, the outer armor of the stern military leader falling away. “I’m here for you, brother.” 

“I know.” 

Gabriel met her tone with warm appreciation in his own, though her words made him feel hollowed out inside. He knew she meant them with all her heart, knew she’d fight for him in a heartbeat if she knew the truth. The idea that he’d almost told her everything seized his heart with cold fear. 

_ I’d kill her, my dove. Slowly. To ensure that the lesson had  _ lasting _ effects... _

Gabriel couldn’t believe he’d ever actually considered it. 

On his way back to his office, Gabriel glanced down at his watch. His stomach did an anxious little flip when he saw that the time had changed. He no longer had roughly 28 hours until Aziraphale expected to see him again. 

He had two. 

Gabriel was grateful for the fact that Aziraphale was being a bit more reasonable these days with the timing of Gabriel’s visits. He seemed to be deliberately leaving Gabriel enough time to handle his affairs in Heaven before leaving; he seemed at last to understand that it was important that Gabriel not draw undue attention which might worry Heaven again. 

Gabriel went to his office and sat down behind his desk, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself, tried to shove back his rising apprehension at the thought of his swiftly impending appointment. 

_ Maybe it won’t be so bad. Things really have been so much better… _

Aziraphale had been… well,  _ still Aziraphale _ , so… not  _ kind _ , exactly. But… perhaps a bit more patient? Less brutal in his punishments. 

More likely to  _ explain _ to Gabriel what he’d done wrong before slapping him down for his failure and demanding that he try again, rather than simply snarling at him that he’d  _ failed, again _ , and punishing him repeatedly for this mysterious failure until Gabriel was such a distraught, confused, weeping wreck that Aziraphale just stormed away in disgust… or until Gabriel somehow,  _ accidentally _ managed to get it right. 

Or until Crowley managed to find a way to slip in a secret miracle and _ “get it right” for _ him. 

_ Crowley won’t be able to help you when Aziraphale finds out what you just told Michael.  _

Gabriel’s stomach rolled dangerously, and he drew in a deep breath, trying to quell his rising panic. 

_ Maybe he already knows. Maybe that’s why he changed the time.  _

Gabriel had had no choice. 

Michael knew  _ something _ ; she had to. Otherwise why would she have asked him specifically about the traitors? What if she’d already had him followed? What if he’d been observed going in and out of the bookshop? If he lied to her, and she already knew the truth, it would only serve to increase her suspicions, to draw more unwanted attention to Aziraphale and Crowley. 

_ I’m just doing what I can to do what Aziraphale wants - to make sure Heaven stays away from him.  _

_ He’ll understand. I’ll explain, and he’ll understand.  _

Unless he didn’t. Unless he lashed out at Gabriel - or worse, at Michael - for Gabriel’s indiscretion. 

_ He doesn’t just  _ know everything _. You don’t have to confess. He won’t know unless you tell him... _

Crowley’s gentle, knowing words echoed in his thoughts - and Gabriel  _ desperately wanted _ to believe them. Aziraphale wasn’t omniscient or omnipresent; he couldn’t hear and see Gabriel when he wasn’t there. 

_ He’s just really, really good at  _ reading you.  _ Like one of his favorite books that he knows by heart, word for word.  _

_ He doesn’t need powers of mind-reading or telepathic knowledge to see that you’re guilty, that you’re hiding something. _

_ All he needs is to take one look at you.  _

Gabriel shivered. 

That was  _ so much fucking worse. _

He closed his eyes, took a breath… clenched his fists on the desk, then opened them, letting his breath out slowly. He opened his eyes and hit the intercom button on his desk to contact his assistant. 

“Yes, sir, how can I help you?” 

It felt so strange, the familiar words directed at him… her attentive readiness to see to his needs. 

_ You’re beneath her. Beneath all of them. I’m only reminding you of your proper place.  _

“Joniel, could you please move up my appointment with Abdiel tomorrow to an hour from now, instead? I’m going to be unavailable tomorrow.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir.” Joniel hesitated, her words coming out nervous and apologetic. “He isn’t available until tomorrow, he’s on assignment and won’t be returning until morning. I’m so sorry…” 

“No, no, it’s all right,” Gabriel responded to her clear anxiety with hurried reassurance. “It’s my fault, I’m the one changing things at the last minute. Can you contact him and move it to next week?” 

“Yes, sir,” Joniel quickly agreed. “I’m so sorry, I’ll take care of it right away…”

He recognized the emotions in her voice - the sickening fear of disappointing someone who held power over you - someone with severely exacting expectations, who had the authority to respond to that disappointment with ruthless retaliation. 

He knew exactly what that felt like, and he hated that he’d made her feel that way - that he’d  _ ever _ made  _ anyone _ feel that way. 

“No, _ I’m _ sorry,” he insisted. “You’ve done exactly as I’ve asked. It’s not your fault if I can’t keep my own schedule straight.” 

“But…” She hesitated, and he could hear her confusion as she concluded, “... it’s  _ my job  _ to keep your schedule straight.” 

“And you do it beautifully,” he declared, warm and appreciative. He paused, closing his eyes, swallowing slowly as he tried to think of the words that would ease his anxiety in the worst moments. 

He couldn’t imagine ever actually  _ hearing _ them - but he knew just what to say. 

“Joniel, thank you so much for all your efforts. I know I - I demand a lot, and you work so hard, and… you do your absolute best in a very difficult position. I couldn’t ask for a better assistant.” 

She was silent for a long, stunned moment. When she spoke again, her words were a little breathless, disbelieving. 

“Th-thank you, sir.” 

Gabriel disconnected the line and rose from behind his desk. He steadied himself with an effort, setting his office in order before stepping out into the hallway, locking the door behind him, and heading for the elevator. 

******************************************************************************************

Things had been going… all right, lately. 

Not nearly as terrible as Crowley had feared that they would be. 

_ This is fine,  _ Crowley told himself repeatedly.  _ This is… manageable. You can handle this.  _

During the past few weeks, Aziraphale had required Gabriel to spend about half of his time at the bookshop, attending to menial tasks that Aziraphale gave him with minimal instruction - tasks designed with the archangel’s inevitable failure in mind. 

But Crowley had managed to avert that failure at least some of the time. 

And the rest of the time, even when disappointed with Gabriel’s work, Aziraphale had still reacted with less violence. 

At least, as long as Crowley was present. 

They’d fallen into a bit of a routine. 

Aziraphale and Crowley would spend a few days alone together. Perhaps they’d go out to dinner or to a show. Aziraphale would ramble on as he was apt to do - as if they were a perfectly happy couple and everything was perfectly normal - and Crowley would smile and nod and do his best to carry on conversation… to keep up the facade to which Aziraphale still seemed desperately attached, reality be damned. 

But as the days wore on, the tension underlying Aziraphale’s casual words, the tightness in his smile, the trembling of his touch would gradually become taut and stretched, like a rubber band an instant from snapping. And Crowley would renew his efforts with increased desperation - speaking more softly, more indulgently, reaching out to touch him despite the crawling of his skin… initiating soft suggestions, leading him off to the bedroom. 

_ Everything is all right… I’m okay… this is fine… _

Crowley could never hold it off forever, no matter how hard he tried. 

If he’d still genuinely  _ wanted _ the angel’s attention, still  _ craved _ him like he once had - Crowley would have been heartbroken. 

Without fail, Aziraphale eventually called Gabriel to the bookshop. 

He’d set him to work, at first. Different chores each week - new and unfamiliar tasks which kept Gabriel within his sight most of the time - most centered around cleaning the apartment that Aziraphale had allowed over the years to fall into total cluttered disarray. Bringing the overstuffed, dust-coated space back into order would have been a challenging task for someone who  _ did _ have a solid understanding of what they were doing. 

It was completely unfair to expect Gabriel to do by hand something Aziraphale had found himself incapable of maintaining for 150 years, with miracles at his disposal. 

Crowley helped. 

He slipped in the occasional miracle where he could, if he felt he could do it without drawing Aziraphale’s attention. Not enough to be suspicious - just fading the worst stains to a more manageable state… helping Gabriel  _ catch up _ , if he was running a little behind. 

And when Aziraphale was downstairs in the shop, or in another room, he swiftly and quietly offered what education he could, to help the clueless archangel - pointing out mistakes before Aziraphale could notice them, heading off disasters before they could develop. 

_ “No, don’t use that on wood, it’ll strip the varnish...”  _

_ “Try this brush for the dusting, it’s gentler on the books…” _

_ “For Someone’s sake, archangel, you can’t use  _ bleach  _ on that, it’s  _ supposed  _ to be that color…”  _

Usually after a couple of days, Aziraphale grew bored with assigning chores. 

But he didn’t send Gabriel home. 

“Time for a lesson, and Gabriel’s penance,” he’d announce. 

Crowley’s heart ached to see the way Gabriel would just  _ wilt _ … the quiet panic in his eyes as he obediently followed Aziraphale down to the backroom. And though the  _ last _ thing Crowley wanted was to witness what took place in that room, he found himself drawn to follow - if not to intervene, then to at least make sure Gabriel wasn’t alone in his suffering. 

But they both knew that he had to be. 

Crowley  _ hated _ it - but Gabriel was the one who had to endure it. 

He comforted himself with the reassurance that he’d be able to heal Gabriel completely, each time, before he left. 

He knew that Aziraphale was certainly not  _ gentle _ with Gabriel, no matter how cooperative Crowley was with his intentions. He knew better than to think that the injuries he was called on to heal each week before Gabriel’s departure were the  _ only ones _ Aziraphale had inflicted. Aziraphale was perfectly capable of healing all manner of violence - bruises, lashes, broken bones and torn flesh - as long as hellfire hadn’t caused it. 

Crowley knew that Aziraphale was trying to win him over again. Intent on hiding the worst of his crimes from Crowley, he was certainly healing much of what he’d done before he ever called Crowley into the room, and instructing Gabriel to keep quiet about it. 

_ But… if it’s not hellfire, then… it’s not permanent. It’s  _ bad,  _ but… nothing Gabriel can’t handle. Just for a little while longer... _

Not if it meant that Crowley might have a chance to put an  _ end _ to Gabriel’s suffering - once and for all. 

_ *********************************************************************************************** _

_ About a week after sending Aziraphale to Moscow for nonexistent coffee, and midway through Gabriel’s stay at the bookshop - cuddled up on the sofa with Aziraphale as if nothing had changed between them - Crowley found a reason to send Aziraphale away again.  _

_ “Do you remember that Italian family we stayed with for a few weeks, oh - it must have been more than a century ago, wasn’t it? They had that little vineyard… best wine I ever tasted.” He shook his head, sighing. “Shame they never wanted to sell it except locally. I wonder if they’re still making it?”  _

_ Crowley kept still, resisting the impulse to pull away as Aziraphale stroked his hair. At last, the angel pulled away enough to meet Crowley’s eyes, knowing and amused.  _

_ “Don’t think I don’t know just what you’re doing, my darling,” he declared.  _

_ Crowley’s stomach clenched, but he lifted a challenging brow and said nothing.  _

_ “And I’m willing to humor you,” Aziraphale sighed, tender and indulgent, gentle fingers brushing Crowley’s hair back from his face. “If you insist on sending me off on quests to prove my devotion… well, I’ve no choice but to continue carrying them out for as long as it takes to prove myself to you, do I?”  _

_ Of course, Aziraphale had insisted on magically “helping” Crowley to sleep, first.  _

_ As soon as he’d gone, Crowley made his way downstairs to where Gabriel was hard at work on a section of shelves in the back of the store. Crowley took a moment to observe him as he carefully stacked delicate old books in one corner, clearing the shelf completely before setting to work cleaning it.  _

_ He no longer used too much polish; he paid close attention to the corners, and made sure each shelf was gleaming, but dry, before replacing the books upon it.  _

_ Even without Crowley’s miraculous intervention, it looked as if he was doing a very good job.  _

_ “How much does he expect you to have finished by the time he returns?”  _

_ Gabriel startled slightly at the sound of Crowley’s voice, spinning around to face him - then relaxing a little.  _

_ “All of these shelves in this back section… all the way up to…  _ there _.”  _

_ Gabriel pointed out an unfairly, impossibly large portion of the shop.  _

_ Crowley frowned, nodding thoughtfully. He snapped his fingers, and the piece of furniture Gabriel was working on was instantly fully clean, the books stacked in the corner perfectly dust-free and arranged to perfection upon its shelves. _

_ Gabriel looked a little confused. “Just… this one?” he asked, immediately wincing at his own presumptuousness. “Sorry. I mean… not that you have to…”  _

_ Crowley smiled. “What if he came back earlier than expected?” he pointed out. “Whole thing being done  _ too _ quickly’d give us away.”  _

_ Gabriel’s eyes slowly went wide as he understood. “Smart.” He nodded slowly, a grin spreading across his face, visibly impressed. “That’s really smart. You’re really smart.”  _

_ Crowley felt a little self-conscious under the archangel’s somewhat awed attention. “Yeah, well.” He shrugged it off. “Subtlest of all the creatures, and all that.” He turned away. “Get some rest while you can, yeah?”  _

_ Gabriel didn’t seem nearly so interested in resting as he did in following Crowley around the shop, watching him intently as he made his selections from its darkest corners, from shelves he knew Aziraphale magically protected from the interest of curious humans - the sorts of books Crowley knew he would need, if his plan was going to work.  _

_ He was also going to need  _ quiet  _ and  _ focus _ \- and Aziraphale was right about one thing, Crowley realized ruefully. _

_ The archangel  _ did love _ to talk.  _

_ “There you are,” Crowley muttered, as he found a specific volume he’d been seeking, smoothing dust off the cover with near-reverent care. “Don’t tell on me, yeah? Promise I’ll put you right back where I found you, in tip-top condition.”  _

_ Gabriel watched him, fascinated, and visibly worried. “Books don’t tell people anything,” he declared, with clear uncertainty. “Do they?”  _

_ Crowley smiled a little. “Some people more than others.” _

_ “Books aren’t living things,” Gabriel persisted, frowning. “Are they?”  _

_ “There’s a bit of life in everything, isn’t there?”  _

_ Crowley took his stack of books to the large table in the center of the best lit portion of the shop - a new decorating choice on Aziraphale’s part, but one that Crowley found useful for his current purposes. He set the books down and snapped his fingers to miracle up a chair, then settled into it.  _

_ Gabriel stood to the side of the table, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. After a moment, he echoed uncertainly, “ _ Everything _?”  _

_ “It all comes from Her hand, doesn’t it?” Crowley pointed out. “So… yeah.” _

_ He carefully took the first book from the stack, and opened it in front of him.  _

_ “If these books are to Aziraphale anything like my car is to me, well… yeah, they just might tell him if I’m not  _ very, very nice _ to them.”  _

_ Gabriel seemed to consider that explanation for a moment, as he settled onto his knees next to Crowley’s chair.  _

_ “He really loves his books.”  _

_ “Yeah.”  _

_ Crowley glanced uneasily at the archangel, a bit too easy in his subservient position for Crowley’s comfort. He snapped his fingers, producing a second comfortable chair next to his, directly in front of Gabriel.  _

_ Gabriel glanced at it, then folded his arms and rested them against the seat, settling in a bit more comfortably on his knees, gazing up at Crowley with curious, questioning eyes.  _

_ “Because… they tell him things?”  _

_ “Books are a source of knowledge.” Crowley gave Gabriel a teasing, secretive grin. “We both know how he likes to be the smartest in the room.”  _

_ “He is.” There was not a trace of hesitation, or sarcasm, in the archangel’s solemn response.  _

_ Crowley wanted very much to contradict him.  _

_ He couldn’t quite.  _

_ He shrugged a little. “Most rooms,” he conceded.  _

_ He glanced at the clock on the wall, and then absently snapped his fingers, rendering another complete shelf in the back of the shop to perfect, spotless order before returning his attention to the book.  _

_ “Can I help you?” Gabriel asked quietly. “I can… do whatever you need me to do.”  _

_ “I need you to rest a while,” Crowley replied, distracted, but still soft with concern. “Not like you get much opportunity these days, and you need it more than you used to.”  _

_ “Because of the cuffs,” Gabriel concluded, with a faint note of uncertainty.  _

_ “Yes.” Crowley nodded.  _

_ Gabriel was quiet for a bit before asking, “How did he make  _ you  _ sleep? Before - for two weeks? I mean… he can’t now, right? The last couple times he’s tried, you’re still awake. So - why could he then? Were you faking?”  _

_ The question - innocent and without accusation - was enough to draw Crowley’s focus fully, and he stared at Gabriel with incredulous eyes - a little stung.  _

_ “For  _ two weeks _ ,” he stated flatly. “While he was… doing what he did.”  _

It’s what you did, though, isn’t it? Kept your eyes closed and pretended not to see… for a Hell of a lot longer than two fucking weeks. 

_ Gabriel shrugged, abruptly, visibly self-conscious. He looked away.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he was clearly unsure exactly what he should be sorry for.  _

_ “No, it’s just…” Crowley shook his head, swallowing and turning back to his book. “I  _ was _ asleep,” he stated firmly. “He made me sleep.”  _

_ “How?” Gabriel persisted.  _

_ Crowley hesitated. It was an easy enough question, but not one he wanted Gabriel to know the answer to - not considering the way he had a tendency to panic and spill out information to Aziraphale at the worst possible moments.  _

_ “Caught me off guard,” he answered at last. “Caught me, uh… already asleep. And he just… made it last longer. Made it so I couldn’t wake up on my own.”  _

_ “You sleep?” Gabriel asked, curious and surprised. “Like… you  _ choose _ to sleep?”  _

_ “Sometimes.”  _

_ Gabriel blinked. “Why?”  _

_ “Because it’s nice,” Crowley sighed. “You just… take a little break from… from everything, for a while.” He was quiet, casting a wry look down at Gabriel as he suggested, gentle but pointed, “You should  _ try it _.”  _

_ “I already did,” Gabriel reminded him with a warm, grateful smile that made Crowley feel a guilty sense of unease creeping up the back of his neck. “You’re right. It  _ was _ nice.”  _

_ “So… why don’t you do it again, while Aziraphale’s gone, and I’m reading, and you have a chance?”  _

_ “Yeah…” Gabriel nodded. “That’s a good idea.”  _

_ He was quiet for literally only seconds before speaking up again.  _

_ “Do you think he  _ made me _ sleep, that one time?”  _

_ “Nope.” Crowley stifled a sigh, turning the page of his book, scanning for particular words that might indicate a useful passage. “Cuffs did that. And since they did, now your body knows how nice it is to take a nap now and then. Keeps trying to do it again. You should listen to it.”  _

_ “The cuffs make me sleep.” Gabriel was quiet for a moment. “They make things hurt worse, too,” he added with the tone of a guilty confession. “Make me… weaker.”  _

_ Crowley felt his focus tugged away from the book with concern, and he turned in his seat, frowning down at Gabriel.  _

_ “You feel all right?” he asked, eyeing him carefully.  _

_ “Yeah,” Gabriel insisted, looking surprised by the question. “I’ve only been wearing them for a day. And he hasn’t really done anything, just - slapped me once, and…” He swallowed, looking away.  _

_ Crowley very much did  _ not _ want to know what would have followed that  _ “and” _.  _

_ “When you’ve been wearing ‘em a while, archangel,” he persisted. “You get sleepy, yeah?”  _

_ “Yeah.” Gabriel nodded, frowning slightly.  _

_ “Hungry? Thirsty?”  _

_ Gabriel’s frown deepened as he eyed Crowley with new suspicion. “I… don’t know what either of those feels like,” he admitted.  _

_ “Like… maybe you’d like something to eat or drink?” Crowley sat back in his chair a little, glancing around the room. “I could get you something…” _

_ “ _ No _.” Gabriel’s tone was sharp with alarm. He immediately flinched at the forceful sound of his own voice, and his next words came out soft and careful. “N-no, thank you, sir,” he stammered, his folded arms leaving the chair as he bowed low over his knees, reaching out for Crowley’s hand. “Please, I don’t - no, I don’t w-want anything, thank you, please don’t…” _

_ “Hey, easy,” Crowley said softly. He reached out his hand toward Gabriel’s - and then abruptly found it trapped between the archangel’s forehead and his own knee, as Gabriel clutched it and lowered his face to rest against it. “Easy, no one’s gonna make you… you don’t have to…” He sighed. “Why don’t you just rest, love, all right? Take a little nap. I’ll let you know in plenty of time before Aziraphale gets back.”  _

_ Crowley could feel the deep, shuddering breath Gabriel drew in through his jeans, his faint, compliant little nod against Crowley’s leg. Gabriel’s free hand rose to curl around Crowley’s knee. Crowley gently extracted his own hand from Gabriel’s grasp, settling it lightly at the back of Gabriel’s neck instead, gentle fingers soothing through the fine hair there.  _

_ “‘S all right,” he murmured. “You’re all right, archangel, just rest, yeah?”  _

_ Gabriel nodded again - slower, wearier - and as Crowley turned the pages of the book with his free hand, seeking the information he needed, Crowley felt Gabriel's body relax against him. He kept up the rhythmic, soothing motion, encouraging him to sleep - regretful when after a while, he had to rouse him.  _

_ “He’s not back yet,” Crowley assured Gabriel immediately when he lifted his head in alarm, sleepy eyes blinking up at Crowley. “Sorry. Just need to see that watch for a bit, yeah?”  _

_ Gabriel immediately lifted his wrist without hesitation to allow Crowley to examine it.  _

_ Crowley closed his eyes, focusing his energy, the faint glow of it surrounding both his hand and the watch for a moment before fading away.  _

_ “Thanks,” he said. “You can rest again, sorry. Just needed to take some specs.”  _

_ Gabriel looked down at the watch before looking back up at Crowley. “What are you working on?”  _

_ Crowley met his gaze, searching his mind for a passable lie - and then decided against it, giving him a grim, rueful smile instead.  _

_ “Best not say, archangel,” he admitted.  _

_ Gabriel frowned in mild indignation, lips parted to protest. Then, his face fell. He swallowed slowly, his words coming out hoarse and quiet. _

_ “In case… he makes me tell him,” he realized.  _

_ Crowley nodded once in solemn affirmation.  _

_ Gabriel nodded too, letting out a regretful sigh.  _

_ “Smart,” he said softly. “Yeah, that’s… that’s smart.”  _

_ Crowley was both touched and troubled by the archangel’s easy acquiescence. Gabriel was far more self-aware than Aziraphale had ever given him credit for. Far less self-serving… far more generous and helpful…  _

He’s nothing like Aziraphale said he was. 

_ “You know, I - it might take me a while, but - when I’m done, he won’t be able to hurt you anymore,” Crowley promised.  _

_ Despite his silent nod, Gabriel looked utterly unconvinced.  _

_ “But… I can’t just keep sending him on random errands,” Crowley explained. “I - I need to have time when he’s not watching me.”  _

_ Gabriel frowned, processing - then his eyes went wide, and he paled a little. He visibly steeled himself, nodding again and lowering his gaze.  _

_ “When he… when it’s time for my penance.”  _

_ “Yeah,” Crowley admitted, regretful. “I’m sorry. I - don’t want to leave you alone with him, but…” _

_ “It’s okay,” Gabriel whispered, nodding, biting his lip. “It’s… sometimes it’s better.”  _

_ Crowley’s stomach lurched. “What?” He had to be misunderstanding. Gabriel  _ couldn’t _ mean that. “It’s better when… you’re alone with him?”  _

_ “It’s  _ awful _ ,” Gabriel clarified, a shudder passing through him as he lifted hesitant, guilty eyes to Crowley. “But… he knows you don’t like it, so… when you’re watching, he… holds back. It’s like he… he  _ saves it up _?” Gabriel whispered, hushed and uncertain as he tried to find the words to explain Aziraphale’s pattern.  _

_ Crowley thought he understood, his heart sinking with guilt. “Until I’m not,” he concluded.  _

_ “Yeah,” Gabriel whispered. “Maybe it’s best if you just… let him do what he’s gonna do.” He was quiet, looking up at Crowley, his gaze solemn and intent. “And… while he’s doing  _ that _ …” _

_ “Yeah.” Crowley slowly nodded.  _

_ “I can…” Gabriel hesitated, wincing as he looked up at Crowley again, fear in his eyes even as he offered, “I can make it take longer. If I - if I fuck up, piss him off, he’ll… he’ll spend more time, and you can…” _

_ “No!” Crowley protested, aghast - softening his tone when Gabriel flinched, and reaching out a gentle hand to cover Gabriel’s trembling hand against his knee. “No, you… you don’t have to do that. We’ll do our best to keep that from happening - to make sure he  _ doesn’t _ get pissed off and hurt you.” He drew in a breath, letting it out slowly, before adding grimly, “And… when he finds a reason to be pissed off anyway… I promise I’ll make it count.” He held Gabriel’s gaze, fiercely certain. “I’ll find a way.”  _

_ Gabriel’s gaze faltered, and he nodded in a hopeless, dejected manner that tore at Crowley’s heart. Crowley knew that Gabriel held little hope of Crowley’s success, but was simply going along with Crowley, because he didn’t dare to argue, or because he desperately  _ wanted _ to believe it, or because… he was trying to spare  _ Crowley’s _ hope, even when his own was thoroughly shattered.  _

_ Crowley was  _ done _ with being sheltered from the truth.  _

_ “It’s...  _ really _ bad,” he prompted, hushed and gentle. “When you’re alone with him. Isn’t it?”  _

_ Gabriel stared at the floor at Crowley’s feet, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat.  _

_ “Hey.”  _

_ Gabriel reluctantly looked up to meet his eyes, his own violet gaze solemn and brave and shining with tears.  _

_ “He heals an awful lot before I get there, doesn’t he?”  _

_ Gabriel didn’t look away... but also didn’t answer.  _

_ It was answer enough.  _

_ But there was more that Crowley had to know, answers he needed to things he’d seen but not heard, secret looks and suggestive touches that had filled his mind with uncertainties that just might make the difference in his plan… in how far or how long he was willing to wait and work.  _

_ “Does he - has - Gabriel, has he touched your wings?” Crowley blurted out, braced for the answer.  _

_ “No,” Gabriel whispered, the trace of relief in his voice at being able to say it, proof enough of the truth in the word. Then he added in a halting, dread-soaked whisper. “Not… not yet.”  _

_ Crowley’s chest clenched tight. He nodded slowly.  _

_ “Does he…” He faltered, feeling sick, but pressing forward with the question that filled his thoughts. “I know what he did. Before. With the hellfire, what I… I saw it when I healed you, but does he… does he still…?” _

_ “ _ Please don’t ask me _.”  _

_ The hushed, desperate whisper stilled Crowley’s rambling, awkward questions - and answered them at once.  _

_ His heart sank.  _

_ “I’m going to stop him,” he promised again. “I swear I will.”  _

_ Gabriel’s wordless, robotic nod of acceptance made the promise feel hollow in spite of Crowley’s determination. Gabriel lowered his face against Crowley’s leg again, his breaths deep and heavy, chest heaving with weariness, and Crowley gently stroked his hair, doing what he could to soothe away his fears until he felt his breath even out, his body going still and lax against him.  _

_ Crowley focused on his work with renewed fervor - occasionally lifting a hand to snap his fingers and clean another shelf - until he felt the soft, insistent warning in the back of his mind.  _

_ Aziraphale was on his way home.  _

_ *********************************************************************************************** _

Crowley kept his word, and did everything he could to keep Aziraphale’s anger at bay, to help Gabriel to please him, though Aziraphale seemed constantly looking for a reason to be disappointed with the archangel. 

And when he inevitably found the reason he sought to punish Gabriel - Crowley made the best possible use of the unsupervised time this allowed him. 

Aziraphale’s library was vast and confusing, and while Crowley had a decent idea of which books might be helpful for his purposes, he was shit at research - always had been. 

Thus far, he’d had little success in finding a way past Aziraphale’s protective blessing, to access and destroy the hellfire weapons. The only thing he’d found so far that would be capable of destroying an angel’s blessing was… a stronger angel. 

Rumor had it that there _ wasn’t _ any stronger angel than Aziraphale - and that was a rumor they had to maintain, if they wanted to survive. 

_ Gabriel could do it.  _

_ And if he knew he could do it, we’d be dead.  _

Crowley turned his attention to books of human magic, seeking references to angelic magic, and perhaps ways to counteract it - with no success. 

The watch, however, was another story. 

Crowley was fairly certain he knew how to unlock it without the ring Aziraphale kept so carefully guarded on his hand. 

What Crowley needed was a spare key. 

Actually crafting one would be easier said than done - but at least on that front, he was making progress. 

Crowley reassured himself with that, whenever Aziraphale called him down to the backroom to heal the damage he’d done to Gabriel. Sometimes hours after he’d taken the archangel to the backroom for his “penance”. 

Sometimes days. 

Sometimes, Aziraphale would come back upstairs alone, and rather than beckon for Crowley to follow him back downstairs, he’d simply settle into the sofa with a book and a steaming mug - leaving Gabriel chained in the backroom, alone, suffering agonies at which Crowley could only guess. 

If Aziraphale became immersed enough in his book, or ventured into the kitchen to prepare a meal, every once in a while, Crowley could slip downstairs to check on Gabriel. 

“It’ll be over soon… I’m so sorry,” he’d whisper, performing a swift, small miracle to ease the burn of the cuffs, to lower the chains just the barest imperceptible fraction - anything he could do to ease the archangel’s suffering, to reassure him that there was someone on his side. 

Crowley never dared stay for long. 

When Aziraphale came looking for him, Crowley knew better than to be found with Gabriel. 

He made sure he was available when Aziraphale sought him out, approaching him and wrapping his arms around him. 

He did his best not to show how it made his skin crawl. 

“Come, love,” Aziraphale would murmur sometimes, in a tone that turned Crowley’s heart to stone in his chest. “Let’s go to bed.” 

Crowley knew better than to refuse him. 

He knew that hanging by the cuffs in the backroom, alone, was a mercy compared to what Aziraphale might do to Gabriel, if Crowley rebuffed his advances. 

_ This is fine… this is all right…  _

_ I’m all right…  _

Aziraphale didn’t hurt Crowley - didn’t force him. 

If he was a little more aggressive than he used to be, well - that was nothing compared to what Gabriel suffered at his hands. 

At least Crowley had a  _ choice _ . 

If Gabriel could endure brutal whippings and being forcibly raped, repeatedly - Crowley could endure a little unwanted attention at the hands of someone who was gentle, and attentive, and constantly,  _ constantly _ trying to  _ prove his love _ … right?

He could pretend Aziraphale’s love was real, just for a little while. 

He could pretend to enjoy it. 

Because when it was over, Aziraphale would lead him down to the backroom, and take the cuffs off Gabriel’s wrists, and allow Crowley to heal Gabriel at last. 

Gabriel was always so agonizingly  _ thankful, _ at the very suggestion of healing, even before it was done - bowing his head low at Crowley’s feet, reaching up with reverent caution for Crowley’s hand. Crowley always gave it over, accepting Gabriel’s gratitude as he crouched down to face him. 

He never performed an instantaneous healing anymore. 

He took his time, examining the damage Aziraphale had left for him to see as he healed it, taking comfort in the knowledge that there was very little hellfire damage most of the time. 

Once he was finished, Gabriel was always allowed to return to Heaven. 

And Crowley spent the next few days watched and doted on, and doing his best to pay sufficient attention to Aziraphale to avoid his calling Gabriel back - just for a few days, a few  _ hours _ longer. 

But… Crowley knew it wouldn’t be long, now. 

He was sitting on the sofa, anxiously tapping his foot, trying to appear bored and unconcerned as he played on his phone - waiting for Gabriel to arrive. Aziraphale came and sat with him, putting his arm around him. Crowley offered him an uneasy smile, bowing his head slightly when Aziraphale leaned in to brush a kiss into his hair. 

They both stilled at the sound of the bell over the bookshop door. 

Footsteps on the stairs. 

A soft knock at the apartment door. 

With an idle wave of Aziraphale’s hand, the door swung open of its own accord. Aziraphale didn’t even look at Gabriel as he lifted his wrist in a graceful, imperious gesture, beckoning for him to enter. 

Crowley ventured a glance up at Gabriel. There was nothing unusual about the kilt and shirt which were Gabriel’s usual attire these days - but Crowley’s heart sank when he saw the anxious, trembling state of the archangel - hands folded and wringing in front of him, head bowed low, footsteps halting and hesitant. 

Something was wrong. 

Gabriel sank to his knees before them both, one finger at his lips. 

“Already?” Aziraphale sighed heavily. “All right, then. What have you got to say that’s so important?” 

“I - I have to tell you something,” Gabriel said in a breathless whisper, glancing at Crowley with wide, panicked eyes. 

Crowley went very, very still - mind racing over all the truths he’d let slip to Gabriel, accidentally or by choice - all the details he was very grateful to have kept from him - as he waited with bated breath, helpless to stop whatever confession was about to pass the archangel’s lips. 

Relief was swiftly followed by a whole new sense of fearful trepidation, when Gabriel explained, hushed and guilty. 

“I… I had a conversation with Michael today… a-about you.” 


	30. Chapter 30

_ “I - I had a conversation with Michael today… a-about you.”  _

Crowley’s stomach clenched with dread at the archangel’s words - not at all the confession he’d feared or expected. Potentially far worse. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, there was a distinct sense of  _ relief  _ mingled with Crowley’s alarm. 

_ If she knows everything now, then maybe she’ll come here. Maybe she’ll stop Aziraphale… take Gabriel home, set him free.  _

_ Since  _ you’re  _ clearly incapable of it.  _

Crowley braced himself for the worst as Aziraphale gently pushed at his shoulder, a wordless command for Crowley to move, to allow Aziraphale to sit up. 

And Crowley complied. Of course he did. 

_ Useless coward. Say something. Do something. You could stop him…  _

_ Or you could make it all so much worse… _

Crowley crossed his arms, watching anxiously as Aziraphale slid forward to the edge of the sofa, within touching distance of the kneeling, trembling archangel. He  _ did _ touch, of course - a gentle hand cupping the side of Gabriel’s face, smiling sympathetically when Gabriel flinched, his panicked eyes fluttering closed. Aziraphale allowed his fingers to slip into Gabriel’s hair with slow, soothing strokes, hypnotically soft as his words. 

“Tell me.” 

Gabriel blinked, his fearful gaze coming into focus on Aziraphale’s face again as he drew in a shuddering breath. 

“She - she _ asked _ me,” he began, a pleading note to the quiet, trembling words. “I - didn’t know what to do, she - wanted to know if I’d talked to you. I - I didn’t know what she might already know. If - someone has seen me here, if she’s been - having me watched, or…”

“Have you given her  _ reason _ to have you watched?” 

Gabriel flinched. “No, sir,” he replied immediately, desperately. “I - I don’t think I have, I’ve been t-trying not to,  _ please _ …”

Aziraphale’s hand tightened in Gabriel’s hair, and he fell silent, biting his lip, waiting for further instruction. After a tense moment, Aziraphale eased his grip, his hand resting still against the back of Gabriel’s neck, thumb stroking idly back and forth. 

“How did you answer her question?” 

“I - I told her I sought you out. I had - questions about Earth and humanity, and you - you helped me, but I - tried to make it clear that - that no one else should come here. That - you don’t want any trouble with Heaven, but - you want to be left alone. That - we should all just _ leave you alone _ .” 

Crowley’s heart ached at the despairing desperation in the archangel’s words. He knew there was nothing Gabriel wanted more than to be able to simply  _ leave them alone _ , and never come back to this place.

Aziraphale was quiet, speculative eyes narrowed as he took in Gabriel’s story. “Do you suppose that she believed you?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gabriel insisted. “Yes, she feels much better about things now, about - how I’ve been doing, and - she’s not as suspicious. She’s not going to come here, or… or anything.” 

His huge, panicked eyes met Crowley’s with pleading desperation, and Crowley averted his gaze, swallowing hard, his face flushed with guilty shame. He could  _ feel _ Aziraphale’s attention follow Gabriel’s gaze, ice blue eyes studying Crowley for a moment over a cruel, knowing smile. Then Aziraphale turned his head, focusing on Gabriel again, his smile fading with his voice into cold, soft malice. 

“Do you suppose that  _ I _ believe you?” 

Gabriel blinked, staring at Aziraphale, incredulous and bewildered. 

“Why would I  _ lie _ ?” he retorted in disbelief. 

Aziraphale let out a disdainful, scoffing laugh, and Crowley cringed, bracing himself for the angel’s impending retaliation against the simple, honest question. Gabriel’s eyes darted between Crowley and Aziraphale, his shoulders falling as he desperately tried to clarify his words. 

“I mean… I came here and _ told  _ you about it,” he whispered. “Why would I do that? Why would I bring up this conversation I didn’t have to mention, just to lie to you about it? Why would I tell you about it at all?” 

Crowley tensed, closing his eyes as he realized Gabriel’s mistake - and his own, in giving Gabriel information that would lead him to this sort of questioning, this uncertainty of Aziraphale’s knowledge and control. Crowley had thought he was helping, reassuring Gabriel that Aziraphale did  _ not _ in fact know everything, without being told. He’d meant to ease the archangel’s fears - to allow him to let go of his constant, terrified vigilance and  _ rest _ , just for a little while, in Aziraphale’s absence. 

But that fear, that vigilance, would have silenced the questions that had just spilled from Gabriel’s lips. 

Would have kept at bay a while longer the dark storm, the electric spark of  _ fury _ building in Aziraphale’s narrowed eyes. 

Aziraphale rose swiftly to his feet, his fist clenching tight in Gabriel’s hair and dragging him along as he started across the room. Gabriel let out a startled yelp of pained protest, one hand rising instinctively toward Aziraphale’s hand, then faltering away from it without daring to touch. He didn’t have the time or leverage to get to his feet and was forced to crawl, awkward and stumbling, at Aziraphale’s side. 

Gabriel drew in a sharp gasp, eyes wide with terror when they fell on the low stool near the corner of the room, where Aziraphale had led him. He tried to backpedal on his knees, instinctively shaking his head back and forth, attempting to dislodge Aziraphale’s grasp. Aziraphale’s jaw clenched with vindictive determination, his fist twisting in Gabriel’s hair, his grasp immovable as he forced Gabriel’s face down low over the stool, leaning down to speak, low and menacing in his ear. 

“ _ Be still _ .”

Gabriel immediately froze, his breath coming in audibly rapid, shuddering sobs. 

Aziraphale lifted his free hand toward Crowley in a halting gesture, his eyes blazing with furious warning. 

It was only then that Crowley realized that he was on his feet and several feet nearer to the struggling angels than he’d been last he remembered. 

“Why indeed,” Aziraphale ground out through clenched teeth, his own breath heavy and labored with the effort of subduing the archangel. “I can think of a very good reason, can’t you, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel kept very still, his faltering hands hovering just over the surface of the stool at either side of his head, clenched into trembling fists as he visibly restrained his instinct to resist. And all at once, Crowley’s gaze was drawn to the archangel’s  _ wrists _ \- their appearance more narrow, more fragile, the watch sitting just a bit more loosely than it had before he’d begun spending long periods of time locked into the cuffs. 

But… the cuffs were not present, now. 

The archangel’s powers, unfettered as Aziraphale manhandled him, shoved him down across the stool that for some inexplicable reason seemed to be the stuff of his nightmares, and held him there, even as Gabriel had struggled with the strength of desperation, the strength of panic. 

But…  _ not _ with the strength of a  _ fucking archangel _ . 

Not with… anything close to  _ Aziraphale’s _ strength, as he roughly jerked Gabriel’s head up off the stool and back,  _ hard _ , biting off his words close to Gabriel’s ear. 

“I _ already knew _ before you ever walked through that door,” he declared with a taunting sneer. “Why do you think I called you here early?” 

It was utter bullshit. 

Crowley had watched Aziraphale’s restlessness gradually overtake him, despite his own best efforts, until he’d finally declared that he was going to call Gabriel to come and serve them for a while. He’d never said a single word about suspecting the archangel of any specific wrongdoing - and if such suspicions had existed, Crowely knew that he certainly would have mentioned it. 

Aziraphale never missed an opportunity to offer up an argument as to why Gabriel  _ deserved  _ the brutality he reveled in unleashing upon him. 

Gabriel was unaware of any such telling behaviors as Crowley had observed. 

“Because you knew,” he sobbed out, choking on his own tears, hands lifted, open and pleading in front of him as the words continued to pour from his lips, frantic and unsteady in his desperation to appease his tormentor. “You - you always know. I can’t keep any secrets from you, you always know e-everything, but - I would have told you anyway, I swear it, please, I was just - trying to help, please…  _ please _ …”

Aziraphale released his vicious grip on Gabriel’s hair, straightening - just to slap him in the back of the head, hard enough to knock his face into the surface of the stool with dizzying force. Still unsatisfied, he grabbed Gabriel by the back of the neck and smashed his head down against it a second time. 

“ _ Shut up _ !” he snarled, his voice rising with his anger and frustration until he was nearly shouting. “I don’t want to hear your _ pathetic, self-serving excuses _ !” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel gasped out, the words muffled against the stool, his chest heaving with sobs. “Yes, sir… yes, sir…” 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley ventured another step nearer, reaching out a cautious, imploring hand. “Angel, he’s just… he’s scared. He’s trying to explain…”

Aziraphale stood there, glaring resentfully down at his shaking, weeping captive, his fists clenched and trembling, the rapid rise and fall of his breath betraying the razor’s edge of control that he was barely maintaining. 

“Please, just… you asked him a question, right? Asked him to explain,” Crowley persisted, taking a few more swift steps when Aziraphale made no move or gesture to stop him. “He’s just trying to do that…”

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel blurted out, lifting his head to reveal the extent of the damage thus far - a red mark at his brow that would be a bruise later… a trickle of blood running from his split lip… violet eyes wide and wet with fearful confusion as they passed anxiously between the angel and the demon standing over him. “Please, I-I’m sorry, I - just wanted you to understand that I - I was trying to h-help…” 

Crowley rested one hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. Gently. A wordless suggestion rather than the sort of forceful insistence that punctuated Aziraphale’s usual commands, but enough to reduce Gabriel’s panicked, rambling words to short, sharp little hiccups of breath, as he closed his eyes and struggled to regain his composure, bowing his head with visible relief at the reminder of Crowley’s present nearness. 

“The angrier you get… the more scared he gets,” Crowley pointed out, soft and cautious, holding Aziraphale’s gaze. “The more he panics… the more he  _ talks _ … the  _ angrier you get _ .” 

Crowley knew the explanation was unnecessary, and probably less helpful than the soft, soothing tone of his words. 

Gabriel’s fear was the  _ point _ , wasn’t it? Precisely what Aziraphale was after. 

And he  _ had _ it, already. 

If Crowley could just get him to relent a little… just buy enough time for Gabriel to  _ breathe _ , and think, and remember all that he’d learned about how to  _ survive _ Aziraphale’s rage… 

“Seems to me he’s just looking out for your interests, angel,” Crowley persisted, low and level and calm, reaching out his free hand to catch Aziraphale’s, gently stroking, encouraging his clenched fist to open. 

It didn’t. 

Aziraphale gazed down at the place where their hands touched, his expression impassive, then glanced at Crowley’s hand, still remaining on Gabriel’s shoulder, a soft reminder to silence - before at last meeting Crowley’s eyes, his own narrowed, alight with accusation. 

“Don’t you mean  _ our _ interests, darling?” 

Crowley swallowed, with an effort managing to hold Aziraphale’s gaze. 

Although Crowley wanted no part of what Aziraphale was doing to Gabriel, he knew that technically, Aziraphale was right. 

They were the two of them entwined in this mess of their own creation - both endangered and protected by the same secret. For a fleeting heartbeat of mad, frustrated panic, Crowley wondered what would happen if he simply spilled it all out right then and there - the switch, his own performance in the elevator, and every bit of malicious mental sleight of hand Aziraphale had performed from that moment forward. 

_ Not without the help of his ‘lovely assistant’, of course. With your blank smile and blind eye and loyalties sawn in half.  _

Crowley glanced down at Gabriel, who met his gaze, then looked toward Aziraphale - watching their interaction closely with wide, fearful eyes. 

Waiting for the outcome of their quiet conflict - waiting as, somewhere over his head, the two of them wordlessly argued his fate. 

Crowley could  _ decide _ it - with a few well-placed words. 

If only he could be certain that Gabriel would  _ believe any of it. _

_ The magician’s brilliant act of transmogrification - turning a fierce, powerful archangel into a broken little bird…  _

_ And he couldn’t have done it without you.  _

Crowley turned his attention back to Aziraphale and took in the challenging light in his eyes - remembered how easily he’d manhandled Gabriel moments earlier - and suppressed a shiver. 

“Of course,” he answered softly. 

Aziraphale studied him a moment longer, his expression softening at last as he opened his hand and clasped Crowley’s. Then, he used his firm grip to abruptly pull Crowley away from Gabriel, behind him as he shifted into the spot where Crowley had stood, and crouched down close to face Gabriel, resting a hand at the back of his head and gently stroking his hair. 

Gabriel tensed, biting his lip to keep his silence, terror-stricken eyes falling to focus on his own trembling hands. 

“Shall we go up to Heaven, then, my dove?” Aziraphale suggested, deceptively gentle, as if he was  _ actually interested _ in Gabriel’s opinion or desires. “Have a little talk with Michael? Clear all this up?” 

“No, sir!” Gabriel immediately winced at his own words, too emphatic in his alarm, and amended, softer, “ _ Please _ , no, sir. I - I’m telling you the truth…”

The instant that the words that passed Gabriel’s lips ceased to be a direct answer to his question, Aziraphale gripped his hair tight, giving it a rough jerk to shut him up. 

“I certainly hope so,” he replied, his soft, mild tone unchanged. “I’d hate to have to hurt her.” 

“Please, sir,” Gabriel wept. “It’s the truth, please, it’s the truth…”

Aziraphale eased his grip at last, his hand moving with Gabriel’s head and continuing to gently pet his hair as the archangel lowered his face between his hands where they rested on the stool, the gesture itself a desperate, wordless plea. Aziraphale just watched him quietly for a few seconds. 

He abruptly snapped his fingers, and the hellfire cuffs materialized on the stool, their edges brushing against Gabriel’s trembling fingers. Gabriel flinched, before his hands instinctively closed around them. Crowley could tell the moment Gabriel recognized the cuffs without seeing them, a shudder passing through his body even as he lifted his head and nodded in hurried compliance. He didn’t hesitate to lock them onto his own wrists - locking away every trace of power or resistance at Aziraphale’s mere  _ suggestion _ of a command. 

“Good,” Aziraphale murmured, tilting Gabriel’s face up and meeting his eyes with a slow nod of approval.

His eyes swept over Gabriel’s bruised, bloodied face, and his expression softened. He passed a hand over the archangel’s head without touching, and the bruise at his brow and the split in his lip vanished. 

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, holding his gaze as he straightened to his feet again. 

“Get up and come with me, Gabriel,” he instructed quietly. “I’ll set you to your tasks for the day.” 

“Y-yes, sir.” Gabriel struggled to rise, head bowed, still visibly bewildered and overwhelmed at the unexpected healing, and the immediate effects of the cuffs. 

Aziraphale impatiently seized his arm and hauled him up the rest of the way, steering him toward the kitchen with a strong hand clenched like a vice around his arm. Crowley started to follow them, but Aziraphale stopped where he was, an edge to his voice, though he didn’t turn to look at Crowley. 

“I’ll be  _ right back _ , darling.” 

Crowley froze where he was. 

Aziraphale’s desire was clearly for Crowley to wait and give him time alone with Gabriel. 

At this point, Crowley couldn’t have given less of a  _ fraction _ of a fuck what Aziraphale desired. 

But Crowley had learned well that when he attempted to intervene, most times Aziraphale just found ways to make it worse for Gabriel. 

_ He’s already going to do ‘worse’ _ , Crowley suspected. _ And it’s your fault. _

There’d been no mistaking Aziraphale’s bitter jealousy at the way Crowley had touched Gabriel. Crowley shivered at the memory of the furious betrayal blazing out from Aziraphale’s eyes,  _ searing _ him with its accusation. 

_ But he isn’t going to take it out on you, is he?  _

Crowley had condemned Gabriel to vicious retaliation, to unknown suffering… with a single, gentle touch. 

_ You could distract him, maybe… find something to catch his interest, to pull him away…  _

_ Or yet another way to just make it worse.  _

Crowley stood there in anguished indecision, watching frustrated and helpless as Aziraphale led Gabriel away and out of sight. 

**********************************************************************************************

Gabriel tried to keep up, blinking to clear his head of the confusion of panic and the disorientation of the cuffs as Aziraphale dragged him into the kitchen, then released him with a rough shove into the counter. Gabriel leaned back against it, bracing with one hand and trying to catch his breath as Aziraphale snapped his fingers, producing a gray plastic bucket filled with various cleaning supplies. 

“You’ll clean this floor until it shines,” Aziraphale commanded. “I’m afraid it’s been woefully neglected for, oh… a century or so.” He gave Gabriel a smile that made a passing attempt at ruefully apologetic but came off as more of a vindictive smirk. “It’s not an easy task, but I’ll expect you to take care with it. I don’t want to see a single stain remaining when you’ve finished.” 

He thrust the bucket into Gabriel’s hands, and the archangel took stock of the supplies he’d been given. There was a scrub brush, several clean towels, and three bottles of various chemicals. One of the bottles was open and half-filled with a yellow fluid, its harsh, acrid chemical scent rising from the bottle to sting Gabriel’s nose. 

A trembling sense of dread made its way up Gabriel’s spine, and he fought back the panic that threatened to rise up his throat again and choke him. He swallowed back a sob, holding a shaking finger to his lips. 

Aziraphale sighed heavily. “Yes?” 

“Sir, I - I’ve never done this task before. I - could you please - explain to me, how…” He swallowed hard. “I - I want to do a good job. I want to please you.” 

“Well, it’s hardly  _ challenging _ , Gabriel,” Aziraphale scoffed. “Any idiot could…” 

He allowed his words to trail off, his contemptuous expression softening with false sympathy. 

“Oh. Oh, yes, I  _ do _ see the problem there, after all…”

His smile fell away, the amusement in his eyes shuttered behind cold malice - the only warning Gabriel got before the thing that had once been a mere principality under his command closed in on him swiftly. He flinched and bit back a startled cry as Aziraphale’s finger rested lightly against Gabriel’s lips in silent warning, his other hand firmly grasping Gabriel’s upper arm and pushing him back over the counter.

“First, you’ll fill the bucket with water and cleaner,” Aziraphale explained with exaggerated patience, shifting in close as he took the bucket from Gabriel’s hand and set it aside, on the counter. His point made, he let his hand drop from Gabriel’s lips to instead toy with the hem of the kilt, falling in soft, clinging folds around the middle of the archangel’s thighs. “You’ll use the brush to scrub up the stains. Pay…  _ careful  _ attention…” Aziraphale slid his fingers up under the kilt, walking them slowly, teasingly along the line where Gabriel’s thighs touched. “... to the corners. You’ll find they unfortunately… haven’t been  _ touched _ in quite a while...” 

There were other instructions. More details as to what to use and how much of it, and in what order and for how long. Many more words, passing Aziraphale’s lips in a low, suggestive tone that made focusing on their actual  _ meaning _ impossible - as his hand inflicted a gentle violation, fingers grasping and stroking, fingernails dragging teasingly over sensitive flesh in a soft suggestion of brutality that stole Gabriel’s breath and his focus and every last trace of coherent thought. 

The sensations stirred to life by Aziraphale’s meticulously applied touch were… confusing. The barest hint of a threat of pain - followed by soft, teasing brushes of his fingertips that felt almost…  _ pleasant _ . 

Or would have. If Gabriel hadn’t been just  _ sick _ with the shame and helplessness and sheer terror of it. 

He shivered as Aziraphale shifted in closer, his firm grasp easing until it was unbearably soft, and Gabriel couldn’t suppress a pleading whimper. 

“Sir, please don’t,” he gasped out, breathless, tears stinging his eyes. “Please don’t…” 

“Oh, but this is what you  _ want _ , isn’t it?” Aziraphale retorted with false confusion. “A lighter hand? A softer touch? Or perhaps, you only want that… from  _ Crowley _ .” 

Gabriel’s heart lurched, and he shook his head. “N-no,” he whispered. “No, sir, please…”

Aziraphale’s false smile fell away, his eyes blazing with accusation and resentment as he abruptly grabbed Gabriel and jerked him away from the counter, only to turn him around and bend him over it again, face first. Holding him down with one hand clenched in his hair, Aziraphale’s other hand delved under the kilt again from behind this time, his soft touch replaced with a rough, punishing grip. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Aziraphale sneered in his ear. “The way you looked at him. The way you responded when he touched you. Your oh-so-convincing theatrics, playing on his compassionate nature to gain his sympathies… to  _ come between us _ .” 

“No,” Gabriel pleaded, tears stinging his eyes as Aziraphale’s fingernails dug into tender, vulnerable flesh. “No, I didn’t, I don’t, please…” 

“You’re a manipulative little slut,” Aziraphale spat out against Gabriel’s ear, viciously seething, jerking his head closer as he went on, low and menacing, “And I will not tolerate your attempts to turn Crowley against me.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched, his mind racing back, past the steady, grounding pressure of Crowley’s hand on his shoulder - back to quiet hours spent with Crowley in Aziraphale’s absence… gentle fingers distracting him from his fears and soothing him to sleep… a desperate, foolishly hopeful question he should never have dared to ask.

_ How much does he know?  _

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel sobbed. “I d-didn’t mean to,  _ please, _ I…”

“ _ Shut up _ .” 

Aziraphale’s hand, wrapped firmly around Gabriel’s cock, gave it a vicious twist, and Gabriel’s hand flew back of its own accord, instinct demanding that he try to dislodge the painful grip. Before he could even make contact, Aziraphale released him by choice, instead grasping his wrist and twisting it up hard behind his back, forcing Gabriel’s stomach down against the sharp edge of the counter and driving the breath from his lungs. 

“Try that again, my dove,” Aziraphale purred in his ear, his words dangerously measured and patient. “I will  _ break your arm _ .” 

Gabriel shivered. “Yes, sir…”

It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Aziraphale twisted his arm up higher behind his back in response to his pleading whimper, biting off his words in sharp, hot puffs of breath against Gabriel’s ear. 

“When I ask you a question, you answer. When I say shut your mouth, you shut it. And when I tell you to kneel in front of the stool, you will  _ fucking kneel  _ in front of the _ fucking stool. _ ” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel sobbed. “Yes, I understand, sir…”

“Everything… going all right, in here?” 

Crowley’s voice, guarded and carefully mild from the kitchen doorway, made both Gabriel and Aziraphale go perfectly still. Gabriel tried not to move, not to even breathe, uncertain as to whether the presence of the demon should bring him relief, or even greater terror. 

Aziraphale held Gabriel down over the counter a moment longer before breaking the silence. 

“Perfectly under control,” he replied, clipped and cool, as he yanked Gabriel away from the counter and threw him to the floor between himself and Crowley. “Useless little whore felt like getting...  _ mouthy _ .” 

“Funny,” Crowley drawled flatly. “Was just coming to check because I felt you’d both gone  _ too _ quiet.” 

Aziraphale scoffed, the clear disgust in his voice making Gabriel’s face flush with shame. 

“I don’t believe he’s  _ capable _ of ‘too quiet’.” 

Gabriel tried his best, anyway - bowing low over his knees, the back of one hand pressed across his mouth as he struggled to suppress the sobs that welled up in his throat, trying to slow his breathing and quell his tears and regain some semblance of composure. 

Mostly, just trying to somehow  _ disappear _ . 

“Come on, angel.” Crowley sounded irritated, and a little bored. “You’ve given him instructions, yeah? So just leave him to it. Come spend time with me.” He paused, then suggested softly, “Read to me?” 

They were magic words. 

Gabriel hadn’t yet heard them fail to tempt Aziraphale away from him. 

Gabriel knew that Crowley preferred this particular choice of activity as a distraction for Aziraphale because it meant that he only had to participate at a minimal level - he could simply sit or lie on the sofa and pretend to listen, without having to make conversation or actively engage with Aziraphale much at all. 

Gabriel liked it because it meant that he could hear where Aziraphale was, while he was working. If Aziraphale became bored and decided to come and accost him again, well - at least Gabriel would have some warning. 

But… Aziraphale rarely got bored, reading to Crowley. 

He seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice nearly as much as he despised the sound of Gabriel’s. 

Gabriel’s attention was sharply drawn by Aziraphale’s fist in his hair, yanking his head up. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the bucket of supplies left its place on the counter and instead appeared on the floor before Gabriel’s folded knees. 

“Do a good job, my dove,” Aziraphale instructed softly, his hand softening in Gabriel’s hair, stroking slowly. “When you’re finished, I expect this floor to be  _ spotless _ .” He let go of Gabriel’s hair to firmly grasp his chin, turning Gabriel’s face toward his own to meet his eyes with a cool, expectant smile. “Do not disappoint me.” 

“No, sir,” Gabriel whispered, not daring to look away. 

Crowley let out an exaggerated, heavy sigh of impatience. 

Gabriel’s heart sped up when Crowley left the doorway and moved in close to him. 

No. Close to  _ Aziraphale _ . 

“Come  _ on _ , angel,” Crowley persisted, reaching down to take Aziraphale’s hand and tug him away a little. “You know, a demon could start to feel a little slighted, all this attention you’re spending on  _ him _ …”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale rose to his feet at Crowley’s gentle insistence, his cold eyes still locked onto Gabriel, a grim smile on his lips, an edge of accusation in his words. “Turnabout, and all that.” 

“I’m  _ sorry _ , all right?” Crowley’s voice had gone low and cajoling and perhaps just the slightest bit  _ pouty _ . “Come on, angel. I just want to relax on the sofa with you… just to hear your voice a while.” 

At last it was enough, and Aziraphale turned his back, allowing himself to be led away by Crowley’s arm around his waist. 

As they left the kitchen, Crowley waved his free hand casually behind his back, out of Aziraphale’s line of sight - and all at once, the dingy stained tile was a little brighter. The stubborn corners that Gabriel had been certain he wouldn’t be able to restore were immediately, brilliantly white. 

Gabriel barely dared to breathe, his heart racing with panic - momentarily  _ certain  _ that Aziraphale  _ knew _ what Crowley had done. He was going to turn around and come back and exact some form of vicious retribution for the failed act of deception. 

But his footsteps, and their quiet voices, slowly grew more distant and quiet, as Aziraphale allowed Crowley to lead him away. 

_ He doesn’t just  _ know _ everything… not unless you tell him.  _

Gabriel let out a heavy, shaky breath in relief, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself, and allowing himself a minute to recover before he set to work on the task he’d been given - a task that suddenly felt far more manageable. 

His thoughts troubled and distracted by the increasing tensions between his captor and his would-be ally, Gabriel lost himself in the steady, quiet rhythm of Aziraphale’s voice from the next room, and the repetitive, strangely satisfying motions of the chore - and was surprised when he realized how quickly he had finished. 

He poured the water from the bucket down the drain, rinsed the scrub brush and the towels he’d used, before rinsing the sink of the remaining bits of debris. Those were the sorts of tiny details he wouldn’t have considered when he’d started this type of service, but Crowley often reminded him that these were things Aziraphale would look for - reasons to claim he’d failed, and to punish him. 

His work complete, Gabriel placed all the supplies neatly in the bucket and knelt on the floor again. He knew he was supposed to go back into the living room when he was finished - supposed to kneel at the stool and wait for Aziraphale to check his work. 

He couldn’t bring himself to go anywhere near the stool right then. 

Aziraphale was still reading. Gabriel had completed his task in record time, thanks to Crowley’s assistance. 

Crowley had bought him a little time to wait. To  _ rest _ . 

Aziraphale’s voice when directed at him filled Gabriel with dread; but like this - thoughtful and measured with a soft and steady rhythm - Gabriel found it almost soothing. 

And… he was tired. These days, he was always  _ so tired _ .

He remained there kneeling on the floor, leaning against the cabinet beside him and allowing his eyes to drift shut, allowing himself to rest… just for a little while…

*********************************************************************************************

Crowley lay on the sofa, his eyes closed and his head resting in Aziraphale’s lap, trying to tune out the sound of the angel’s infuriatingly calm, smugly knowing voice. Trying not to shiver in revulsion at the gentle touch of Aziraphale’s hand. Trying not to think about how just a few weeks earlier, he would have  _ relished _ the soft, pleasurable slide of Aziraphale’s fingers through his hair. 

Now, he only tolerated it because it was part of a suitable distraction, and an effective stall tactic. 

This particular position allowed that if Aziraphale should abruptly decide to stop reading, Crowley would still have time to provide Gabriel with at least a little warning - a loudly cleared throat, a knick-knack “accidentally” knocked off the coffee table - before Aziraphale could get up from the sofa and get to him. 

He’d used this particular diversion several times already, to  _ redirect  _ Aziraphale’s attention away from the unfortunate archangel, and Aziraphale had yet to catch on. 

Crowley took less comfort in that than usual, this particular morning. His thoughts were troubled, mulling over what he’d just witnessed with a rising uneasiness in the pit of his stomach… his mind going back to other unexplained questions that had lingered there for quite a while longer. He drew in a slow breath, concentrated on easing the tension from his brow, lest Aziraphale should feel it there. 

Aziraphale’s hand went still. 

“Darling, is something the matter?” he asked, his tone soft with concern. 

_ Shit. Too late.  _

“No, no,” Crowley insisted. “‘S nothing, angel, I’m fine. Carry on.” He met Aziraphale’s eyes with the warmest smile he could muster. 

Aziraphale gazed down at him, sad and reproachful. “You know, I  _ do _ still know you better than anyone, Crowley,” he sighed, withdrawing his hand, closing his book and setting it on the end table. “I still know when you’re lying to me.” 

Crowley’s stomach did an unpleasant little somersault as he reluctantly sat up, turning on the sofa to face the angel. 

_ Let’s hope that’s not  _ always _ true… _

“All right,” he admitted, hoping a willing admission of this one secret might forestall Aziraphale from seeking out any others. “Yeah, something’s… troubling me a bit. Just… not something I want to talk about right now.” 

Aziraphale looked at him again with a worried frown. “Why not?” he asked, sounding small and uncertain. 

“Because you’ll get angry,” Crowley answered honestly. 

“With you?  _ Never _ , darling.” 

Aziraphale’s expression was earnest and searching - but Crowley knew it for the lie it was. 

He also knew it for the  _ threat _ it was. 

“Don’t want you taking it out on  _ him _ , either,” he declared, holding Aziraphale’s gaze. “‘S not his fault if I’ve got questions you’d rather not answer.” 

The angel was examining his expression too closely to allow for anything but the truth. If Crowley was lucky enough and clever enough, perhaps he could find a way to angle it to his advantage - and Gabriel’s protection. 

“I won’t,” Aziraphale promised, then repeated, insistent, with a huff of laughter at Crowley’s no-doubt dubious expression, “I  _ won’t _ !”

Finding no humor of any sort in the situation, Crowley didn’t so much as crack a smile - and Aziraphale’s smile faded, as well. 

“Contrary to your current opinion of me,” he sniffed, looking away in offense, “I  _ do _ possess  _ some _ modicum of self-restraint.” 

“I hope you’ll prove that to me, angel,” Crowley replied, waiting to go on until Aziraphale met his gaze again. “How you respond to this conversation, and… and after, well…” He swallowed hard, pausing for emphasis. “It’d go a long way.” 

The light of hope in Aziraphale’s eyes set a deep ache in Crowley’s chest, but he forced himself to meet it with a tentative smile. 

“I will, darling, you’ll see,” Aziraphale insisted, reaching out across the brief distance between them to capture both of Crowley’s hands within his own. “I’ll prove myself to you, prove that you can still… speak freely to me, tell me your… your questions and concerns.” 

“And you’ll take them into consideration when making your executive decisions regarding our relationship.” 

Aziraphale’s face fell. “ _ Crowley _ !” 

Crowley suppressed his satisfaction at the sting. He glanced up toward the dining room, and the kitchen doorway beyond it. Regardless of the answers he received, truth or lies - this was still a conversation it was best the archangel not overhear. 

He stood up, nodding toward the bedroom door. 

Aziraphale followed without hesitation, quietly closing the door behind them. He walked past Crowley and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out an encouraging hand toward him. 

Reluctantly, Crowley joined Aziraphale, sitting beside him and taking his hand. 

_ If it’ll keep him calmer… keep him off his guard a bit, maybe… then it’s worth it.  _

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked, coaxing and gentle, squeezing Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley drew in a breath, then began, cautious and measured. “He fought you.” 

Aziraphale frowned slightly, puzzled. “Yes,” he replied. “Don’t worry, love, I dealt with it…”

“No,” Crowley clarified, looking up into Aziraphale’s eyes, searching for the subtlest of reactions, either intentional or instinctive. “He  _ really _ fought you. Didn’t want to go  _ anywhere near _ that blessed stool, and - yeah, I’ve got questions about  _ that _ , too, but…” He held up a hand to head off Aziraphale’s impending protest or explanation. “... those are for another time. He pushed back - actually resisted.” 

Aziraphale’s frown deepened, his head tilted slightly. “Yes?” he conceded, guarded and cautious. 

Crowley held his gaze, intent and seeking. “And you overpowered him. _ Before _ the cuffs.” 

Aziraphale went still - his expression very deliberately unchanged in a manner that betrayed far more than a guilty look would have done. 

“He’s… quite frightened of me.” 

Aziraphale pointed out the single fact that sat at the intersection of Crowley’s lists of both Obvious Statements that Go Without Saying and Most Ridiculous Understatements in Existence, waving a vaguely dismissive hand. 

“Perhaps he wasn’t actually resisting all that hard. You know how overdramatic he can be.” 

Crowley did not, in fact, know anything of the sort. 

“So he wouldn’t  _ dare _ fight you. Too scared. Just…  _ play _ at it enough to piss you off.” 

Aziraphale shook his head, frowning, stuttering over the beginnings of a made-up explanation that Crowley had no intention of hearing. 

“You’re stronger than him,” he stated with certainty. “Angel…  _ how _ are you stronger than him?” 

Aziraphale swallowed slowly, a trapped expression in his eyes, so Crowley persisted with the questions that had plagued him. 

“How could you put me to sleep the way you did? The first time, when I  _ wasn’t  _ consenting to it?” 

Aziraphale frowned with confusion, his huge blue eyes welling with hurt. “I’ve apologized to you for that, darling, you  _ know _ how sorry I am…”

“No,” Crowley clarified. “ _How…_ _could_ you? As in… why were you capable of doing it?” His voice softened, pensive and self-reflective. “I tried to fight you, too. Couldn’t stop you.” He looked up at Aziraphale again. “Why?” 

Aziraphale looked away, rising to his feet and withdrawing his hand from Crowley’s. Crowley held on, unwilling to allow his retreat - but Aziraphale easily twisted out of his grasp. Crowley took in his abruptly defensive stance, arms crossed over his chest, before staring down at his own hand… turning it over, his gaze drawn to the holy scars that remained there. 

“You’re… no more powerful than I am,” Crowley said - a statement with the uncertainty of a question. 

Aziraphale seemed to be, inexplicably, stronger than an archangel. Stronger than Crowley’s desperate attempts at mental resistance. Stronger than he realized, perhaps, when blessing the hellfire cuffs, to protect them from Crowley’s interference? 

“Of course not,” Aziraphale declared, the faint note of hostility in his words setting off a stirring of warning in Crowley. “You’re always so suspicious of me, Crowley. Always must question my every action…”

“Haven’t always,” Crowley countered, watching Aziraphale with a new wariness in his eyes, and an unspeakable depth of sorrow aching in his chest. “Not ‘til you started giving me reason.” 

Aziraphale glared at him, eyes glittering with tears. His lips parted as if to argue - but then closed again, pressed into a tight, angry line. He shook his head, holding up a dismissive hand as he spun on his heel and made his way straight for the door. 

“Where are you going?” Crowley demanded, rising to his feet, heart lurching with alarm. “We’re having a conversation!” 

“It’s too quiet out here,” Aziraphale said, brushing off Crowley’s insistence, and the touch of his hand against his shoulder, attempting to slow him down. 

“Thought you said he wasn’t capable of that,” Crowley retorted, following Aziraphale’s swift, furious pace toward the kitchen. “Angel,  _ wait _ . Angel, you  _ promised _ !” 

_ He didn’t, though, did he? You asked him to prove himself to you, hoped and believed he might…  _

_ And he will.  _

Crowley stopped short in the kitchen doorway, startled at the sight that met his eyes. 

Gabriel was asleep on his knees, his head resting against the door of the cabinet under the sink. The cleaning supplies had been neatly gathered in the bucket, placed directly in front of him. 

The kitchen floor was immaculate. 

Aziraphale stood over Gabriel, arms crossed. He cast a glare in Crowley’s direction, lifting a single hand in an emphatic little wave indicating the sleeping archangel, drawing Crowley’s attention to the scene.

_ You see? _ his accusing eyes seemed to say.  _ How useless and untrustworthy he is? How utterly in need of my constant correction?  _

What Crowley saw was something else entirely - with perfect clarity, and perhaps for the first time. 

“Please, angel,” he said softly, wincing a little as Gabriel stirred, lifting his head and shaking it a little. “He finished it. He did as you told him…”

Aziraphale held up a hand to halt Crowley’s pleas, and he hated himself for his obedient silence - but Crowley knew that any defiance on his part would only come down on Gabriel’s head. He stood there, fist clenched at his side in helpless, frustrated fear, as Aziraphale crouched down facing Gabriel, a patient smile on his lips as Gabriel finally looked up enough to meet his eyes, his own hazy with sleep. 

He blinked a few times until his vision came into focus - and then drew in a shuddering, panicked gasp. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t catch you?” Aziraphale asked with curious, disbelieving amusement, his tone deceptively mild. He shook his head with a soft, disappointed sigh. “We  _ will  _ eventually cure you of your laziness, my dove.” 

“I-I’m sorry,” Gabriel blurted out, bowing low over his knees in complete submission, his words pouring out, muffled but not slowed by the soft fabric of the kilt. “I - I finished the floor, sir. Please, sir, I’m so sorry… I d-didn’t mean to…”

Crowley winced, turning his eyes Heavenward at the archangel’s utter inability to keep silent - as if silence would save him. 

_ As if he should  _ have _ to keep fucking silent, you useless coward.  _

_ He _ literally _ can’t keep quiet to save his life - and you can’t open your mouth.  _

Aziraphale brought a gentle hand to rest on Gabriel’s head, his calculating gaze cast up toward Crowley as his fingers stroked, slow and idly possessive, through the fine, soft hair at the back of the archangel’s neck. 

“Finished, are you? I don’t believe so, my dove,” he remarked calmly, even as he caught Gabriel’s hair in a merciless fist, dragging him forward, off balance, and forcing his face down, an inch from the tile. “It seems you’ve missed a spot.” 

Crowley stepped forward, peering at the place to which Aziraphale had so forcefully drawn Gabriel’s attention - a faint grey smear of dusty, soapy water left behind by the archangel’s efforts. 

Gabriel was too close to miss it, now. 

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, his shoulders quaking, his hands trembling as he held them up near his face in desperate surrender. “Please, sir, I’m sorry…” 

“Be quiet,” Aziraphale commanded softly, forcing Gabriel’s head lower, and forward a bit - his trembling lips hovering above the damp stain. “And  _ clean it up _ .” 

Crowley’s stomach turned; he took another anxious step forward, halting immediately when Aziraphale looked back up at him with a cold, questioning smile. 

“Angel… angel,  _ please _ ,” Crowley begged him, hushed and deferent, a forced, anxious laugh escaping his lips. “Did better than  _ I’d _ have done, didn’t he? If it’d been up to me, I’d have - well, I’d have fucked it all up. Made a right mess of it, didn’t I?” He held Aziraphale’s gaze, desperately willing him to accept the barely veiled apology. “If it were me, I - I’d know better, but him - he’s still learning, yeah? Trying hard, too.” He swallowed. “ _ Please _ , Aziraphale. Please.” 

Aziraphale watched Crowley a moment longer, cool and impassive, before focusing his attention on Gabriel again, a surprising,  _ disturbing _ tenderness in his gaze as he eased his grip on Gabriel’s hair to a gentle caress. 

The archangel still didn’t dare lift his head, his breath coming swift and shaky as he stared at the single flaw in his desperate, painstaking attempt at pleasing his captor. 

“Crowley thinks I should be patient with you,” Aziraphale stated softly, casting his knowing gaze back up toward Crowley. “That I should exercise…  _ restraint _ .” His hand left Gabriel’s hair to take his arm instead, guiding him back up on his knees until he could meet the archangel’s eyes with a warm, reassuring smile. “And I will.” 

He snapped his fingers, and Gabriel flinched, hard - but Aziraphale merely produced a clean, damp cloth, which he immediately pressed into Gabriel’s hand. 

“Clean it up,” he ordered softly. 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly and obeyed, scrubbing much harder than was necessary at the barely existent spot until Aziraphale sighed with exaggerated patience, and plucked the cloth from his hand, snapping again to end its fleeting existence. 

“When you have finished your assigned tasks, Gabriel,” Aziraphale asked with the calm patience of an indulgent instructor, “what are you supposed to do?” 

Gabriel swallowed hard, his words coming out choked and halting. “I’m supposed to - to wait w-with my hands on the stool,” he whispered. 

“That’s right,” Aziraphale affirmed, his brow furrowed with solemn disappointment. “So, besides the unfortunate matter of your conversation with Michael, you’ve failed to be obedient several times already… just since you’ve arrived this morning, haven’t you?” He laughed softly, shaking his head.

Gabriel shivered, his shoulders falling, his lips parted for an apology that he managed, mercifully, to stifle before it could escape his lips. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered miserably instead. 

“And yet… I’m going to spare you any further punishment,” Aziraphale declared, with the slow weight of a decision just being made. “I’m going to overlook your failures in light of the fact that you’re…” He gave Crowley a baleful look before rolling his eyes and concluding flatly, “...  _ trying so hard _ .” 

Gabriel missed the faint sarcasm entirely, his shoulders quaking with relief, his hands falling, trembling, around Aziraphale’s shoes, as he bowed his head low over them.

“Thank you, sir,” he sobbed out, tears tracing dusty trails in the worn brown leather. “Thank you, sir, I - I’ll do better, I promise, I’ll do better…”

Crowley braced for the worst - but Aziraphale allowed the slight trespass to slide, gently stroking Gabriel’s hair. 

“I know you will, my dear,” he said, soft and reassuring - his eyes locked onto Crowley with a chilling certainty that made Crowley feel every bit as trapped as the captive cowering at his feet. “I know you will.” 

***************************************************************************************************

For the next day and a half, Aziraphale continued to give Gabriel tasks to complete, and Crowley remained braced for the fallout - for whatever innocent infraction Aziraphale might conjure or imagine, to use as an excuse to unleash his fury on the hapless archangel, who had reached that place of near frantic desperation where the intensity of his anxiety to please would certainly lead to mistakes. 

Crowley averted disaster where he could - miraculously correcting any such minor mishaps. 

It was inevitable that he would eventually miss one or two. 

To Crowley’s immense surprise and suspicion, Aziraphale remained calm and patient, explaining to Gabriel with quiet severity where he’d gone wrong, and firmly demanding he do the task over again until he got it right. When Aziraphale had at last run out of tasks to assign, he allowed the archangel to go to his spot at the stool and rest. 

He reached out a gentle hand to cup Gabriel’s cheek, giving him a sympathetic look when Gabriel flinched just slightly, wide violet eyes searching Aziraphale’s face, desperate as ever to please him. 

“You’ve done well, my dove,” Aziraphale assured him. “And… if you feel like sleeping, you may.” 

As Aziraphale turned toward the sofa, Gabriel cast his anxious gaze on Crowley, who gave him a swift, nearly imperceptible nod. 

_ Sleep, archangel, it’s all right. I’ll watch over you.  _

“See?” Aziraphale said in a hushed, private tone, slightly petulant as he took his place next to Crowley on the sofa, putting his arm around him and brushing a kiss along his hairline. “Self-restraint.” 

Crowley resisted the urge to pull away, to roll his eyes and echo the word in a high-pitched mockery of Aziraphale’s voice. Instead, he took a breath to steady himself and turned his eyes on Aziraphale, wide and earnest over a warm, grateful smile. 

“Thanks, angel.” 

This earned him an indulgent smile from the angel’s lips... and the sort of kiss that he had to actually  _ return _ . 

As quickly as he could, Crowley diverted Aziraphale’s attention to the book he had half-finished reading aloud. He rested his head on Aziraphale’s leg, his eyes turned toward Gabriel, watching as the archangel drifted in and out of sleep - both lulled and alarmed by turns, at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. 

After a while, Crowley waited for Aziraphale to stop for breath, and suggested casually, “Let’s go out to dinner, angel.” 

_ With any luck he’ll send him home… or at least leave him here alone, so he can actually rest awhile…  _

Aziraphale frowned, pensive. “No,” he decided at last, his calculating gaze turning toward Gabriel.

Gabriel had slid off his knees, his body leaning into the stool, his head resting in his folded arms across it. 

“No, I believe I’d rather order in.” 

When Aziraphale looked back down at Crowley, Crowley made his expression unconcerned, shrugging casually. 

“Suit yourself.” 

Aziraphale smiled, a teasing glint in his eye that Crowley had learned to distrust. “Pity  _ he  _ has absolutely no idea how to cook,” he observed, nodding toward Gabriel. “Now  _ there’s _ a way in which he might make himself  _ truly _ useful around here.” 

_ Yeah. And a means for you to find a million new ways for him to fail.  _

“Not your best idea, angel,” Crowley remarked, keeping his tone light and teasing. “I think  _ you’re _ the only angel in existence who could give it a fair go.” He shrugged. “Can’t be much of a cook if you don’t eat.” 

He closed his eyes, waving a hand vaguely toward the book to indicate he was ready for Aziraphale to continue. 

Aziraphale didn’t. 

“Why, that’s a splendid idea, Crowley!” he declared with excitement, closing the book and setting it aside. 

Crowley blinked, immediately sitting up and turning to face Aziraphale with alarm. 

“What? No. I didn’t have an idea,” he insisted immediately. “Not a single idea here, what are you talking about?” 

He silently cursed himself for sitting up when Aziraphale rose from the sofa, swiftly moving toward Gabriel. 

“Angel, wait… what are you doing?” 

Aziraphale ignored him, crouching down facing Gabriel and gently patting his arm. 

The archangel startled to wakefulness with a gasp, blinking into the light, then meeting Aziraphale’s eyes with alarm. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to sleep…”

“I said that you could, didn’t I?” Aziraphale reminded him with gentle amusement, fingers caressing over the curve of his elbow. “It’s all right, my dove, I’m not angry with you. In fact you’ve done so well these past two days…” He paused, casting a sly glance back toward Crowley before meeting Gabriel’s eyes again. “Perhaps you’ve earned a reward.” 

Gabriel blinked in confusion, anxious eyes darting between Crowley and Aziraphale. 

Crowley just stared back at him, as helpless to reassure him as he was to stop the terrible thing he’d put into motion - even though he wasn’t quite sure just yet exactly what that terrible thing  _ was _ . 

Aziraphale’s intent became dreadfully clear in the next moment, when he gently cupped Gabriel’s cheek, turning his eyes back toward Aziraphale with a warm, leading smile. Crowley’s heart sank with dread at the angel’s bright, innocent words. 

“How would you like to join us for dinner?”


	31. Chapter 31

Gabriel blinked, trying to clear his thoughts of the sleep haze that clouded them. Aziraphale was crouched down facing him with an expectant smile and a warm, encouraging tone that Gabriel knew better than to trust - and an offer that made Gabriel’s stomach lurch, the moment his lagging thoughts managed to process it. 

_ “How would you like to join us for dinner?”  _

Gabriel looked to Crowley in alarm. 

_ What did I miss? What happened while I was asleep?  _

He found neither answers nor reassurance in the demon’s trapped, apprehensive expression.

“Angel, no,” Crowley protested, his tone touched with hushed, careful urgency. “No, it’s fine, just - he’s finished his work, yeah? Let him go back to Heaven for a while. We’ll pick someplace nice, just you and I, and we’ll order in. And then… after, maybe we’ll…”

“He isn’t going anywhere. He hasn’t served his penance yet.” 

Gabriel shivered at the soft, malicious expectation in Aziraphale’s cool blue gaze. 

“And he’s so very  _ tired _ , Crowley, can’t you see?” 

Aziraphale’s tone was just a touch too sympathetic to be sincere. Gabriel forced himself to keep still and not flinch away when Aziraphale reached toward his face, deceptively gentle fingers brushing across his cheek before settling in his hair. 

“He’s been falling asleep while attempting to carry out his chores. Why, he’s just  _ had _ a pleasant little nap, and he’s clearly  _ still _ exhausted…”

Gabriel was too sleepy, too caught off guard to fathom how his weariness was in any way connected with this unwanted invitation he so desperately wanted to refuse. He searched Aziraphale’s face, and found no clue as to his expectations behind his cold, brittle smile. All Gabriel knew for sure was that he did not want to appear unappreciative of the principality’s mercy.

“I’m v-very grateful for the rest, sir,” Gabriel whispered. “Th-thank you…”

Aziraphale’s fingers clenched into a fist and shook Gabriel once, hard - a wordless warning to silence, and an instantaneous indication that he had, once again,  _ gotten it wrong _ . 

“You’re very welcome, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, a terse, warning note behind his soft words, “but rest is  _ not _ what I’m offering you right now.” 

Gabriel tried to collect his thoughts, to focus enough to formulate a proper answer over the deafening pounding of his own heart, the rush of panic throwing his thoughts into chaos. He closed his eyes and drew in a trembling breath, letting it out in halting, cautious words. 

“It’s… not my  _ place _ , sir. I - I would be happy to - to serve you and Crowley your meal…” 

“That’s very sweet of you, my dove,” Aziraphale cut him off, a soft edge of menace in his words. “How very considerate.” 

He yanked Gabriel’s head back again, and Gabriel stifled a pleading whimper as Aziraphale leaned in very close to his face, smiling. 

“Do _ you _ decide what is your  _ place  _ here, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel cringed at his own mistake, his accidental presumption. “No, sir,” he whispered. 

“Are you attempting to find a vague, roundabout sort of way to  _ refuse _ my offer, my dove?” Aziraphale continued, his words low and mild. “Because I would find that  _ deeply _ offensive. I’ve already expressed to you how very  _ rude _ that would be. Haven’t I?” 

As he spoke, his grip tightened in Gabriel’s hair until he couldn’t have moved at all, not even if he’d tried. 

And he didn’t dare try. 

He swallowed hard, his heart racing as he kept as still and pliant as possible in Aziraphale’s iron grasp. “Yes, sir,” he gasped out. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t - wouldn’t…” He closed his eyes, took a breath, and tried again, his words coming out hushed and hoarse. “I would be honored and grateful to be allowed to join you for dinner, sir.” 

Immediately Aziraphale softened, beaming with satisfaction as his punishing grip eased, gentle fingers stroking Gabriel’s scalp, soothing away the searing sting they’d just inflicted. 

“Of course you would,” Aziraphale murmured with clear approval, kissing Gabriel’s temple before letting go of him entirely and rising to his feet once more. 

Gabriel felt sick. 

His hands were damp and trembling against the surface of the stool. He ventured another searching look up toward Crowley - who looked as if he felt sick, too. 

The demon was staring back at Gabriel helplessly, as if he had no idea whatsoever what was going to happen next, either. He knew only what Gabriel also knew. 

It was going to be horrible. 

Aziraphale was going to make sure of it. 

There was nothing either of them could do to prevent that. 

**********************************************************************************

_ Come on,  _ think,  _ Crowley. How can you fix this?  _

Gabriel was staring up at Crowley with pleading, desperate eyes, begging him for help that Crowley wasn’t sure he had to offer. 

_ You got him into this.  _

Aziraphale was grinning at Crowley with eager anticipation that would have been endearing and adorable, had he been anticipating a particularly delicious dessert at his favorite restaurant, or a classical concert, or an evening at the theatre. 

_ Your careless words, just given birth to whatever bloody appalling idea is going through his head  _ now. 

_ Again.  _

The thought of whatever it was that Aziraphale was  _ actually _ anticipating, well - it made the beaming smile on the principality’s face nothing short of chilling. 

_ Think. How can you make this better?  _

_ Or at least…  _ not  _ the fucking traumatic nightmare he’ll be aiming for?  _

Crowley’s mind raced, going over what he knew about the situation, and what he could possibly use to manage it.

_ Archangel’s terrified of eating, for some blessed reason.  _

_ I’d wager from what Aziraphale’s said… and from how Gabriel reacted when I suggested it… he’s never actually tried it before…  _

Crowley frowned, pensive - considering. 

_ Maybe he should.  _

Gabriel had been falling asleep much more frequently, lately - occasionally at times that led to punishment. It was not the first time Crowley had considered the possibility: if the archangel needed sleep, then he likely needed food as well. 

_ Doesn’t even know what “hungry” feels like, if he  _ is _ feeling it - so he couldn’t tell us.  _

_ And wouldn’t, if he could. _

“Angel, can I speak with you for a minute?” 

Crowley carefully avoided Gabriel’s anxious, questioning gaze, feeling a little guilty for even considering… what he was considering. 

“Of course, darling,” Aziraphale replied brightly. 

He casually dropped his hand to Gabriel’s shoulder, resting it there a moment before sliding it down between the archangel’s shoulder blades. Gabriel froze, and Crowley could barely breathe, until Aziraphale’s lips shifted into a smile, and he spoke again, deceptively soft and gentle. 

“Stay right here, my dove. Don’t move from your spot until I return.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, barely daring the breath to speak, wide eyes locked onto the floor at Aziraphale’s feet.

Crowley was acutely aware of the archangel’s anxious gaze when it found him again, the moment Aziraphale turned his back. He didn’t meet or even acknowledge it, but instead kept his focus on Aziraphale as he approached. Made himself accept the angel’s touch with a welcoming smile as Aziraphale slid his arm around Crowley’s waist and guided him from the room, into the bedroom. 

Crowley tried to hide his relief when Aziraphale let go of him, turning to close the door behind them. He waited until Aziraphale had turned to face him again to speak, his words hushed and private. 

“Look, angel… I’m sorry, all right?” he began. “For arguing. I don’t want to fight with you. I know I’ve been… suspicious, and - and there’s no reason for it.” 

“There really isn’t.” Aziraphale sighed, his gaze lowering to Crowley’s hand as he took it and lifted it gently between them. “Darling, you know how I hate being at odds with you.”

“Me, too.” Crowley focused on  _ not  _ recoiling in revulsion, on swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat as he forced out his response. “You’re - you’re right. He’s been sleepy and weak, lately, hasn’t he? It must be the cuffs, right? They make him - more human-like, yeah? That’s all it is.” He looked up into Aziraphale’s face, searching for some trace of a reaction, while keeping any sign of his own suspicions shuttered away. “The cuffs -  _ they’re _ the reason you’re stronger than him.” 

_ Strange how it doesn’t seem to matter if he’s  _ wearing  _ them or not…  _

“Of course that’s all it is,” Aziraphale agreed readily, shifting closer to Crowley, releasing his hand only to wrap one arm around his waist and draw him in. “Thank you, darling, for reconsidering the situation.” 

He looked up to meet Crowley’s eyes with a sorrowful, pleading gaze that, set in that beloved mask of loving, earnest perfection, would have melted Crowley’s resistance in an instant, not so very long ago. 

_ Before _ he’d caught a glimpse of the rancid, crawling decay that lay behind it. 

“I’m not some… terrible villain with a host of malicious schemes in the making,” Aziraphale insisted with a touch of petulance, his lower lip betraying the barest trace of a pout. 

“I know,” Crowley conceded softly. “I’m sorry, angel, I - I got a little worked up, and - things weren’t making sense, but - there’s no need to punish  _ him _ for  _ my _ mistake.” 

“No one’s  _ punishing anyone _ , Crowley,” Aziraphale argued, reproachful. “I’ve offered to allow him to share our table. To dine with us as equals. How is that a punishment?” 

Crowley stared at him flatly. 

“I won’t talk to you like you’re a villain, if you won’t talk to me like I’m an idiot.” 

Aziraphale blinked, taken aback. 

“You’ve told me yourself how he hates the idea of food, or eating, angel,” Crowley reminded him firmly. “He’s hated it for as long as he’s known you to do it. He doesn’t see any reason for it, and he finds it gross. And if you  _ hadn’t _ told me - his reaction to your invitation just now would have made it pretty damn clear.” 

“But it’s  _ silly _ , Crowley!” Aziraphale objected, his tone light and dismissive. “Food is a pleasure! One that we’ll be doing him a favor to introduce to him!” 

“I agree.” 

Aziraphale blinked, as caught off guard as Crowley had intended by his unexpected, easy acquiescence. 

“I think he  _ needs _ to eat,” Crowley explained. “I think that’s part of the problem. Archangelic powers locked away - he hurts like a human. Sleeps like a human. Maybe - needs to eat, like a human. He’s losing weight, angel. Getting weaker. Maybe - maybe eating would help with that problem.” 

Aziraphale let out a derisive little huff. “Gabriel’s being weaker than us isn’t what I’d call a  _ problem _ .” 

“His being weaker than the average angel in Heaven, _ is _ a problem,” Crowley countered grimly. 

Aziraphale appeared mildly offended at the comparison of himself to an “average angel” - and Crowley tried not to think about the rather troubling implications of  _ that _ , choosing to focus instead on continuing to make his case. 

“He has to keep up appearances, up there, yeah? If he’s asked to perform some sort of miracle, or use powers that are dwindling away while he’s down here in the cuffs, well… questions get asked… secrets come to light…”

“They’d better not,” Aziraphale muttered, glowering in the general direction of the door. 

Crowley reached out to touch his face, directing Aziraphale’s focus back toward him and holding his gaze with solemn, earnest eyes. 

“... and all at once we’re dealing with a lot more than a single, subdued archangel. Fancy  _ that  _ scenario becoming reality, do you?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and sighed in defeat. “Yes, yes, I see your point. Gabriel needs to eat. I’ve  _ invited _ him to  _ eat with us _ . I fail to see the problem, darling.” 

“The problem is that if we handle this wrong, now,” Crowley explained, patient and careful, “it could set the tone from here on out. Make him hate food forever. Which could be a problem if your intention is to keep him in those cuffs as often as you have lately.” 

“Not a problem at all,” Aziraphale argued, his eyes glittering darkly over a tight, grim smile. “He’ll eat if I tell him to eat.” 

“And if he’s too put off by it to keep it down?” 

Crowley arched a challenging brow, waiting for an answer that Aziraphale faltered over, and couldn’t quite come up with.

“You can control his mouth… control his resistance, angel, but you can’t control involuntary bodily responses that he doesn’t even understand - much less have any mastery over. And one way or another, he’s gotta stop losing weight, getting weaker - before someone in Heaven notices.” 

Crowley paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before offering an alternative. He knew better than to hope that Aziraphale would actually accept it - but he also knew it would most certainly seal the deal.

“The cuffs are the problem, really, so… maybe we just leave them off, a while. Give him some time in Heaven to get his strength back up…”

“No, no,” Aziraphale objected, hasty and anxious, frowning. “No, I - I see your point about… making tonight’s meal... as pleasant an experience as possible.” He sighed. “I imagine he views being made to ingest anything at all as the cruelest of torments. How would you suggest we proceed?” 

“Take it easy,” Crowley replied immediately, prepared for the question. “Start slow.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not quite the fan of human food that you are, either, angel. You have a very refined palette with quite a few… strong, acquired tastes. Perhaps it’s better if I plan the meal, get the food, all that. I can choose some things that might be a bit easier to handle, for someone who’s so new at all this.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “But there are so many things I wanted to have him try!” 

“And plenty of time to get to that,” Crowley pointed out, forcing a smile although the words, and the thought that they might be true, turned his stomach. “The first time’s probably not the  _ right _ time for… most of them.” 

Then, he deployed his secret weapon. 

“You want me to participate. You keep saying that. Yeah?” 

Aziraphale blinked, a sickening hope alight in his eyes. “Yes,  _ very much _ , darling.” 

Crowley nodded, schooling his expression into something much calmer and more accepting than the revulsion churning in his gut. 

“This is me, participating.” He considered, then amended softly, “This is how I’m  _ comfortable _ , participating.” 

Aziraphale frowned, thoughtful and concerned, studying Crowley’s face closely. “Why do you  _ care _ so much, darling?” he sighed at last, shaking his head slowly, visibly at a loss. “He tried to  _ kill _ us. He still would, if he could…”

“That was a very long time ago, angel,” Crowley reminded him. “A lot’s changed since then, and -  _ he’s _ changed a lot… since then. He’s… quiet and obedient, as you wanted.” He went silent, swallowing hard before looking up at Aziraphale again with honest confusion. “Isn’t that enough? Does he have to be in constant terror and misery, too?” 

“Quiet and obedient.” Aziraphale scoffed softly, rolling his eyes. “He’s  _ hardly either _ of those things,” he muttered. “ _ Half _ the time, at best…”

“The way I see it,” Crowley persisted, pressing as much as he dared, infusing his words with enough of his honest opinions and earnest hopes to conceal the secret motivations he didn’t want Aziraphale to notice. “If you’re determined to do this thing, to - have him here, on a daily basis, well - shouldn’t it be a learning experience? Shouldn’t we be  _ teaching _ him about - the  _ value _ of Earth, and humanity?” 

“I dare say he’s learned quite a lot since he’s been under my tutelage,” Aziraphale protested. 

“He’s learned to be afraid.” 

Aziraphale fell silent at Crowley’s quiet statement of certain fact, unable to find an argument against it. 

“He’s learned suffering. Shame. Nothing of any sort that would make him understand  _ why _ the planet was spared,  _ why _ Heaven and Hell were both wrong. And - yeah, maybe he deserved some of it…” The words felt bitter on Crowley’s tongue, and he hurried past them to his point, willing the angel to see it, “... but shouldn’t he be shown that there’s  _ pleasure _ to be found on Earth, too? Not just pain? He’s so afraid to try to eat anything - because he never has, yeah, but also - because  _ you’re offering _ it.”

Aziraphale looked away, a faint flush suffusing his face, and Crowley knew he’d made his point. 

“This dinner… could be an opportunity to change that. You know, effective training usually involves consequences…  _ and _ reward.” 

Aziraphale nodded slowly, thoughtfully, his pensive gaze still downcast, a slight frown creasing his brow. 

“I’m trying to accept these…  _ changes _ you’ve made to our lives. I’m trying to come to terms, and… I want to participate,” Crowley repeated, forcing the words out, then concluding with hushed, honest conviction. “But I  _ won’t  _ do it by hurting him. I want to - to help  _ teach _ him.” He was quiet a moment before looking up into Aziraphale’s eyes again. “I don’t want our home to be a place of pain and suffering.”

Aziraphale hesitated, studying Crowley’s face closely, before he sighed heavily, his words coming out thick with emotion, hushed and near-reverent. “Well, how can I possibly refuse you, when you put it that way? You make very valid points, my love. As I’ve said so many times already - without you, I’d surely wander far astray.” He shifted in close, eyes soft with affection as he pressed a tender kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “Consider this dinner yours to plan and carry out.”

Crowley searched Aziraphale’s eyes, slipping his arms around him to welcome his nearness in a way he knew he never  _ truly _ would again. He kept his voice soft, submissively pleading, when he spoke again. 

“And… you’ll try to be patient with him? When he gets things wrong tonight? He’s going to, of course, he’s new at so much…”

“I will,” Aziraphale promised, gentle fingers cupping Crowley’s cheek as he nodded. “A few mistakes are understandable.”

“And… while I’m gone? He’s scared to death, angel. Please, just… cut him some slack, for now? Don’t hurt him?” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes wearily. “All right, my soft, sweet love.” He sighed as if making some great, terribly inconvenient concession. “I promise you, while you’re gone, I’ll only mete out punishment if it’s well and truly deserved.” 

Crowley knew it was the best he was going to get. 

“Thanks, angel.” 

He made a big show of gratitude anyway, releasing a trembling sigh of relief, giving the angel a warm smile, and nodding in acceptance. 

“It won’t be a typical dinner,” Crowley warned mildly. 

He tried to suppress the rush of mingled satisfaction and apprehension that flooded him at Aziraphale’s surrendering control of the evening meal to him, even as his mind raced ahead, trying to piece together something of a plan - how best to use this concession to further his and Gabriel’s escape. 

“I’ll try to find a few things he might actually be willing to eat, so - I’m thinking a bit of a mish-mash of flavors and food types that don’t really go together all that well. If that’s all right with you.” 

Aziraphale watched him with cautious, guarded eyes - as if he was carefully measuring his reactions, very much aware that Crowley was watching him just as closely - with a great deal weighing in the balance, based upon Aziraphale’s response.

“Of course it’s all right, love.” Aziraphale smiled warmly. “I know you’ll choose a lovely selection.” 

“Even if you might find it a bit boring for your adventurous tastes.” Crowley returned his smile, lightly teasing. 

Aziraphale let out a light laugh, rolling his eyes with a little grimace of acknowledgement. “Yes, well… with that in mind… I do have just one request for tonight’s menu.” 

_ There it is.  _

“Yes?” 

Crowley braced himself. 

“Sushi?” 

Aziraphale’s expression was far too innocent. Crowley studied him for a moment, but then relented. 

“Done.” 

It wasn’t an unreasonable demand. Crowley could work with it. 

He was familiar with all of Aziraphale’s favorites by now, and they didn’t trend toward the hot and spicy side, or the hard-on-the-stomach side. Aziraphale preferred sweet things - and the menus at the sushi places he preferred to frequent were vast, with plenty of options that would be mild enough for Gabriel, while still tasty enough to please Aziraphale. 

“One more thing,” Crowley said, braced for Aziraphale’s objection before he even spoke. “Can you give me a minute to talk to him? Get some sort of idea of what things he might want to try?” 

Aziraphale scoffed. “He doesn’t  _ want _ to try  _ anything _ .” 

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand, looking into his eyes, imploring and earnest. “Please, angel. I want this to work. Maybe you’re right.” He shrugged with a self-deprecating little laugh and a shake of his head. “Maybe he gives me nothing, but… maybe there’s something he’s curious about tasting. Maybe he’ll give me something to work with.” 

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed, heading toward the door with Crowley’s hand still clasped in his. “It’s a lost cause if you ask me, but as you wish, darling, we’ll go talk to him.” 

Crowley stood still and held onto Aziraphale’s hand, pulling him up short just as he reached to open the bedroom door. 

Aziraphale turned back toward him with a questioning look. 

“No,” Crowley objected, soft and careful, eyes downcast before looking up at Aziraphale again. “I mean…  _ just _ me.” 

Aziraphale blinked - then frowned, troubled. 

“We both know if you’re there, he’ll just try to say whatever he thinks you want to hear. Whatever he can remember seeing  _ you _ eat. He’ll try to… like what you like.” 

Unsurprisingly, Aziraphale did not seem to see the problem with that. 

He hesitated, staring at his own hand on the doorknob. 

“Please, angel,” Crowley persisted, squeezing his hand, moving in closer to him. “I’ll only be a few minutes, and I’ll come and get you as soon as I’m done. Just… let me talk to him about this alone first?” He paused, glancing down before looking up at Aziraphale again through strategically wide, lowered eyes. 

“Unless of course you don’t trust me…”

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale relented predictably, lifting his hands in surrender and backing away from the door. “Fine, all right. Just come and get me when you’re done.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands folded primly in his lap. 

Crowley arched an eyebrow. “Nosy, much?” 

He smirked teasingly as Aziraphale sputtered. 

“Angel, just give me a  _ minute _ , all right?” He took Aziraphale’s hand and led him toward the door, this time. “Why don’t you go down to the shop and find your favorite sushi menu for me, in the drawer behind the register where you keep them? I’ll come down on my way out, and let you know to go back up. Just… give me a  _ little  _ breathing space, yeah?” 

Aziraphale let out a vaguely offended little huff, but then sighed and allowed Crowley to lead him out into the living room. Crowley couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face as he made his way toward the stairs - but he watched Gabriel’s closely, looking for any sign of an unseen threat. 

He saw no more than the usual level of fearful uncertainty on the archangel’s face, staring up with dread at Aziraphale as he passed close beside him - then questioning confusion when he dropped his gaze to meet Crowley’s eyes. 

Crowley held a finger to his lips as he approached Gabriel, crouching down beside him and waiting, listening, until the sound of Aziraphale’s descending footsteps had finished. 

Gabriel’s wide, panicked eyes glanced over his shoulder toward the stairs before looking back at Crowley, his damp lips parted and trembling. 

Crowley kept his finger at his lips, shaking his head slightly, as he waved his other hand toward the stairs in a swift sound-proofing miracle. 

_ If he’s right back at the top of those stairs, trying to listen in, he’ll be pissed… but he won’t be able to do anything about it.  _

_ Not without letting me know he was eavesdropping in the first place. _

There was always the chance that Aziraphale would take his frustrations out on Gabriel, later - but Crowley was hoping to have bought at least a little more time without that happening. 

And a few minutes of privacy, for now. 

“It’s all right,” he assured Gabriel in a low, hushed tone, resting a steadying hand at the back of his neck, squeezing gently. “He can’t hear us right now, archangel.” 

Gabriel gave him a dubious look, glancing back down the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 

“He can’t, trust me,” Crowley insisted - then winced. “Yeah, I - I know that’s a lot to ask. But I swear it’s all right. He can’t hear us. We’ve only got a few minutes, so don’t lose it on me now, yeah? Keep it together…”

Gabriel nodded shakily, his violet eyes welling with tears. He kept his hands pressed to the stool in front of him, as he’d last been commanded - but leaned slowly, hesitantly in toward Crowley, resting his head against his shoulder. Crowley’s heart ached as he slid his arm around the archangel, allowing and accepting the contact, doing his best to soothe him - wishing he could offer more than a few brief minutes of comfort and safety. 

“I’m about to leave for a little while,” he admitted at last. 

Gabriel abruptly lifted his head, drawing back to give Crowley a desperate, dread-filled look. 

“I have to get the food for tonight - or  _ he  _ will,” Crowley explained with a regretful grimace. “And if  _ I _ pick, at least I can make sure it’s as easy as possible. All right?” 

Gabriel looked confused and no less terrified, but he nodded anyway, reluctantly. 

“Listen,” Crowley said firmly, holding his gaze intently. “You need to remember what we talked about.  _ Don’t _ tell him anything he  _ doesn’t already know _ . About… my research, about me being awake when he’s gone… the things we talk about when he’s not here. None of it. Right?” 

Gabriel swallowed, glancing toward the stairs again, before leaning in close and at last venturing to speak, in a hushed, fearful whisper. 

“What if he  _ knows _ ?” 

“He doesn’t.”

Gabriel shook his head, rapid, frantic. “He knew about Michael…” 

“He  _ didn’t _ ,” Crowley insisted, fierce and firm. “That was a  _ lie _ , archangel, all right? He didn’t suspect a thing before you showed up. He just wanted you here, so he moved the time up, that’s all. And then when you got here and told him about it, he pretended he already knew. To keep you scared, keep you off balance…”

Gabriel frowned. “He sounded like he knew.” 

Crowley nodded ruefully. “He’s bloody good at that.” 

“He said I tried to t-turn you against him.” Gabriel’s voice was small and shamed, his eyes downcast. “Because - when he was gone, I a-asked you if you could…” 

“No, he doesn’t know about that,” Crowley insisted. His face flushed with guilt, he looked down at Gabriel’s trembling hands, placing one of his own gently over them. “It was… my fault. He said that because I - I touched you. In front of him. And the way you - well, it made you feel better, for a minute, yeah?”

Gabriel nodded gratefully, tearfully, closing his eyes in exhaustion and lowering his head to rest against Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley stared down at him sadly, his free hand stroking Gabriel’s hair gently as he continued. 

“He saw that. He - sees things. Reads people like books, I told you that, remember?” 

“Yeah,” Gabriel whispered, nodding wearily against Crowley’s hand. “I remember.” 

“He doesn’t just know things,” Crowley repeated. “He doesn’t know what goes on in Heaven when he’s not there. And he doesn’t know about  _ us _ \- the things we’ve been talking about, what I’ve been working on.” 

“Okay,” Gabriel whispered, breathless with relief, his shoulders falling. “Okay.” 

“Just… try to stay calm, and… and do what he says, while I’m gone,” Crowley continued softly. “He said - he promised me he wouldn’t hurt you, not unless you…” 

Gabriel lifted his head abruptly, leveling Crowley with the sort of disbelieving look that seemed to suggest that Crowley was  _ just precisely _ the level of idiot that he was beginning to feel. 

Crowley sighed. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “Know it won’t last _ long _ , just, maybe it’ll last... ‘til I get back?” 

Gabriel’s expression softened with the sort of sympathy one might reserve for someone who just  _ couldn’t help _ their level of repeated, annoying idiocy, and was  _ trying their best, really _ . His incredibly expressive eyes spoke volumes of words that Crowley knew he wouldn’t have dared allow to actually pass his lips - all of which basically boiled down to a single thought. 

_ Poor dumb little demon. He’s trying.  _

Crowley couldn’t even bring himself to feel offended, he agreed so strongly with the sentiment. 

All at once, Gabriel’s expression shifted, his eyes widening with startled, anguished realization. 

“If he didn’t know… until I told him, about - about Michael, then - I  _ told him _ she’s worried, I put her in  _ danger _ …”

“No,” Crowley said firmly. “No, she’s not in any…”

“I’m such a  _ fucking idiot _ ,” Gabriel moaned. 

“You’re  _ not _ ,” Crowley insisted, reaching out to touch his cheek, holding his gaze. He drew in a breath - wished desperately that he could explain why Michael was not and would never be in any danger whatsoever from Aziraphale. 

Then he thought of Aziraphale’s uncharacteristic, unexplained physical strength, and wished desperately that he was even  _ sure _ of that, at all, anymore. 

“Listen to me,” he said again, gentle but firm. “He is  _ very _ good at making you think what he wants you to think. Making it seem like he knows everything already.” He smiled sadly. “He’s been doing it to me for centuries. But he doesn’t.” 

Gabriel nodded slowly, swallowing. He still looked uncertain, but a little less frantic. 

“ _ Don’t tell him _ ,” Crowley repeated. 

Gabriel blinked, sucking in a shaky breath, then letting it out slowly. He straightened his shoulders, drawing back from Crowley’s hand and staring down at his own for a moment - still pressed against the stool where Aziraphale had last ordered him to keep them. Slowly, and very deliberately, he withdrew them, clenching them into tight, trembling fists for a moment before folding them together in his lap and looking up to meet Crowley’s gaze again. His jaw was set with determination, the trace of an old, once familiar hardness in his eyes that sent a faint shiver down Crowley’s spine. 

“What does he _ think _ we’re talking about right now?” 

“Oh,  _ yes, there _ we are!” Crowley let out a pleased, relieved little laugh, giving Gabriel an approving nod. “ _ There’s _ the take-no-shit, get-it-done Archangel Fucking Gabriel. Still in there, yeah?” 

Gabriel’s expression faltered a bit at those words, and he glanced anxiously toward the stairs again. Then he looked back to Crowley, swallowing hard and nodding slowly. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. 

Crowley felt a rush of warm affection for the not-quite-broken archangel, overwhelming any trace of instinctive alarm he might have felt with admiration in its place. 

“Right,” he said, nodding briskly. “I told him I’d be asking you about your preferences - what you’d _ like _ to try to eat.” 

Gabriel’s fragile courage quailed at those words, and he flinched, drawing in a shuddering breath, dread flooding back into his eyes. 

“I can’t,” he whispered. “Crowley, please…” 

“I think…” Crowley winced, reaching out to take Gabriel’s hand. “I think you  _ need _ to, archangel. With those cuffs on, they - make you need sleep, right?” 

Gabriel nodded slowly, unhappy understanding dawning in his intelligent, expressive eyes, even before Crowley went on. 

“You’re getting thinner. Weaker. I think they’re making your body need  _ food _ , just like it needs sleep.” 

“No,” Gabriel moaned, lowering his head, shaking it slowly in defeated despair. “No, I  _ can’t _ … please, I don’t want to…”

Crowley swallowed back the sick rush of shame and guilt that choked him - wishing he still had the  _ option _ to take the cuffs off then and there - to remove the unnatural impediment forcing Gabriel’s own body to betray him. Wishing he had the strength of will and wit to effectively oppose Aziraphale - to give Gabriel back  _ control _ over what his own body was forced to consume or endure. 

Whether or not he needed it - Crowley knew, it should have been  _ Gabriel’s _ to decide. 

He forced the words out - hushed and sad, a gentle reminder of what Gabriel already believed to be fact.

And what  _ Crowley _ knew to be no better than a half-truth at best.

“ _ We don’t have a choice _ .” 

“I-I don’t need to eat,” Gabriel protested, his voice breathless and rushed with impending panic as he hid his eyes in his trembling hands. “I’ve  _ never _ needed to eat, I’ll be  _ fine _ , I’m just a little tired, I don’t  _ need _ it…”

“It’ll be all right. I promise.” Crowley kept his tone hushed and soothing, lifting his free hand to run his fingers gently through Gabriel’s hair. “It won’t hurt you. I’m going to pick everything, and I’m going to make sure it’s all good, mild stuff that shouldn’t be too challenging, yeah? Nothing too strong or spicy or… you have  _ no idea _ what I’m talking about, do you?” 

Gabriel shook his head in miserable resignation. 

“You might not like it,” Crowley conceded. “I’m gonna try to get stuff you might like, but… even if you don’t. It won’t  _ hurt _ you. All right? It’s not toxic, or anything…”

Gabriel looked up at him sharply, frowning with suspicion. “What’s toxic?” 

Crowley winced. “Toxic is a concept we do not need to discuss right now, because it has absolutely nothing to do with dinner tonight,” he said firmly. “I wish you could tell me what you like, because that would give me something to go on, but - just know that whether you like it or not, nothing I ask you to eat tonight will hurt you. It’s not dangerous. It’s not bad. Maybe a little unpleasant, depending on your tastes, but… please… try to trust me?” 

Gabriel still looked confused, but he nodded slowly, eyes open and earnest as they locked onto Crowley’s - and smote the demon’s heart with a heavy sense of guilt for what was being offered so guilelessly to him. 

He knew he didn’t even remotely deserve it. 

Crowley removed the sound-proofing as he made his way down the stairs - though he was already fairly certain Aziraphale knew of its existence. The tight, false smile on the angel’s lips when Crowley found him pacing the front of the bookshop was enough evidence to confirm his suspicion. 

“He seemed worried you’d be listening,” Crowley explained, all at once very concerned with the fact that he was about to leave Gabriel with a very irritated Aziraphale. “Kept asking me what  _ you’d _ want him to try. Seemed very concerned with pleasing  _ you _ , more than getting what  _ he _ might want, so… I told him you couldn’t hear us.” Crowley shrugged. “Thought I’d best make it real, to sell it. In case he could feel whether there was actually a miracle there, or not.” 

“He couldn’t,” Aziraphale snapped, dismissive. “The cuffs.” 

Crowley winced, tapping his own temple and shaking his head ruefully. “Yeah, didn’t think of that.” 

“Did it work? Do you know what you’re shopping for?” 

“Not even remotely,” Crowley sighed. “Archangel’s got no idea what he likes. Got no idea what anything tastes like. Gonna have to just do my best.” 

He sidled in close to Aziraphale, reaching up a hand to the back of his neck to draw him in for a kiss. Aziraphale’s eyes were still narrowed slightly, and Crowley could feel his resistance, a lingering hostility in the hard set of his shoulders, until he concluded with the perfect words to melt it away, hushed and enticing, a bare inch from the angel’s lips. 

“ _ You were right _ .” 

By the time Aziraphale had finished kissing him back, he had softened, the irritation on his face having faded to affectionate tolerance. 

“I tried to warn you, darling,” he sighed. 

“I know,” Crowley replied, small and contrite, and trying not to wince at the patronizing little peck Aziraphale pressed to his forehead. 

“You’re going to do just perfectly, Crowley, I know it,” Aziraphale assured him with a warm, encouraging smile. 

“I’m sorry about the sound-proofing,” Crowley said, soft and apologetic, holding Aziraphale’s gaze with honest concern. “Wasn’t his idea. Please, angel, don’t…” 

“I’m not going to hurt him, darling,” Aziraphale insisted, stroking Crowley’s hair. “I told you I wouldn’t. We’ll just… have a lesson, while you’re gone. Nothing too strenuous or challenging.” 

His secretive smile made Crowley nervous. 

When Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him again, Crowley returned it -  _ searching _ , wishing he could still feel some sense of the angel’s intentions in the kiss… wishing he still felt as if he knew him at all. When the kiss ended, Crowley hesitated - deeply unwilling to leave Gabriel alone with Aziraphale, despite his promises. 

_ Sooner you leave, sooner you get back…  _

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand before letting it go, giving him a warm smile and heading for the door. 

“Crowley, darling?” 

Aziraphale stopped him just before he opened it, meeting his questioning gaze with a warm smile. 

“Try to be back in time for tea.” 

*********************************************************************************************

The lesson was particularly grueling. 

It was all just so utterly unfamiliar to Gabriel, and there were so many tiny, specific details. 

So many ways for Gabriel to fuck it up. 

By the time Aziraphale was even  _ close _ to satisfied, Gabriel was exhausted. He gratefully went to the stool when Aziraphale at last said he could rest, kneeling on weary legs, settling his shaking hands in the required position. 

“No, my dove,” Aziraphale said softly as he settled into the sofa across the room. “Come here.” 

Gabriel froze, his heart sinking with dread. 

_ No, please… you said I could rest, you said we were done, please…  _

He obeyed without complaint, crossing the room and hesitantly kneeling at Aziraphale’s feet. 

“There we are,” Aziraphale said, the gentle approval in his tone sparking a desperate hope within Gabriel, though he knew better than to trust it. “You may rest right here, Gabriel.” 

Aziraphale lightly patted his own thigh. 

Gabriel hesitated, feeling the back of his neck prickle with apprehension as he obeyed - even before Aziraphale’s fingers began to slowly, lightly caress there, occasionally sliding up through his hair… or drifting lower. He was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was like this - how easily Aziraphale could hurt him, if he changed his mind on a whim and decided that was what he’d rather do. 

It was strange and surreal to Gabriel - the ways in which Aziraphale’s touch, and Crowley’s, felt the same - soft and gentle, awakening sensitive nerve endings with a pleasurable sensation that made Gabriel feel a little foggy and sleepy - if not quite safe. 

With  _ Crowley _ … Gabriel felt safe. 

Crowley  _ never _ abruptly switched from the light, soothing touch to a sharp, painful one just for the fun of it. 

Crowley didn’t touch him like this just to scare him… just to prove that he  _ could _ . 

Crowley…  _ asked _ , first. 

With Aziraphale, even as he felt himself drifting, lulled by the soft touch, Gabriel’s heart raced with fear of what could happen next - how easily and suddenly it could shift to something else - something  _ worse _ . 

At least the gentle, rhythmic touch of Aziraphale’s fingertips was a distraction from the throbbing at his temple where Aziraphale had smacked him - the sting of his split lip, every time he forgot and bit at it - the half dozen or so tiny red marks on his hands and forearms that  _ burned  _ incessantly. 

Constant reminders of his every mistake during the exhausting lesson. 

The apartment door opened, and Gabriel’s heart leapt. 

Crowley was back. 

He stayed as he was, not daring to lift his head or show any reaction to the demon’s return. 

Not until Crowley instructed him to, a sharp note to his voice that Gabriel had rarely heard there. 

“Look at me, archangel.” 

Aziraphale sighed, but withdrew his hand to allow it - so Gabriel obeyed, looking up to meet Crowley’s eyes. 

Crowley was frowning, a quiet, smoldering fury in his gaze - his eyes locked onto Gabriel, but his low, angry words directed toward Aziraphale. 

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him.” 

“Oh, I  _ didn’t _ !” Aziraphale protested, his tone one of light frustration. “Honestly, Crowley, that’s  _ nothing _ . He was distracted during our lesson. I merely got his attention - and I must say it worked. He learned the lesson very well.” 

He patted Gabriel’s back lightly, and Gabriel tensed, his stomach lurching. 

The sound of a faint, rising whistle from the kitchen only made his gut clench tighter, his apprehension rising at the recently familiar sound that had also drawn Aziraphale’s attention. 

“Just about tea time, isn’t it?” the principality addressed Gabriel, gesturing toward the kitchen with one hand. “Ready to demonstrate what you’ve accomplished, my dear?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Gabriel nodded, gripping the edge of the sofa to get to his feet. It felt strange being higher than Aziraphale, who kept his seat; Gabriel bowed his head low, instinctively hunching his body lower as he headed toward the kitchen. 

“Come sit with me, darling,” Aziraphale urged Crowley warmly, his voice fading as Gabriel left the room. 

He could hear the tone of Crowley’s response, though he couldn’t quite make out the words, muffled from the other room. The resentment, the clear disapproval in the demon’s voice set Gabriel’s nerves on edge. 

_ Please don’t make him angry.  _

_ Please don’t make him hurt me…  _

As if bidden by his silent pleas, Crowley appeared in the kitchen doorway a moment later, his arms laden with his excuse to follow Gabriel instead of sitting with Aziraphale - the dozen or so bags and packages he’d brought back with him. 

The mingled scents made Gabriel’s stomach turn, his anxiety ratcheting up yet higher, as Crowley set the bags down on the counter and turned toward him, keeping his voice pitched low. 

“You all right?” 

Gabriel glanced toward the doorway, expecting at any moment for Aziraphale to follow Crowley. He didn’t answer, and instead set to work doing what Aziraphale had taught him, carefully taking each piece from the cupboard - arranging cups and saucers and teaspoons on a gleaming silver tray, and then finally taking the matching china teapot from the cupboard as well. 

“Gabriel… what happened? Let me see…” Crowley persisted, hushed and concerned. 

Gabriel turned away from him to take the steaming metal kettle from the stove and carefully poured the boiling hot liquid into the teapot - sharply aware of the silence in the wake of the kettle’s whistle, no longer present to cover the sounds of the conversation he was so studiously attempting to avoid - but Crowley insisted on having.

“Gabriel? Hey, look at me…”

“Please don’t,” Gabriel whispered. “Please just go to him…”

Crowley caught Gabriel’s hand, pulling it away from the kettle to examine his fingers with a frown. 

“He did this?” 

_ No, I did. Looked like fun.  _

“I kept fucking it up,” Gabriel whispered back, quick and terse. “I’m stupid, I suck at learning new things…”

“No, he sucks at teaching them,” Crowley retorted, low and trembling with anger. “This isn’t your fault, archangel.”

“It’s nothing,” Gabriel insisted, jerking his hand away. Immediately, he felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard before adding in a hoarse, hesitant whisper, “I-I’m sorry.”

_ Shouldn’t have done that. He’s the one that’s actually nice to you, don’t piss him off, too...  _

“Don’t be,” Crowley said, putting his hands up and taking a step back. “ _ I’m _ sorry, I - you said don’t.” 

Gabriel didn’t answer, and Crowley went quiet as Gabriel continued preparing the tea service. At last the demon broke the silence, his words hushed and thick. 

“He said he wouldn’t hurt you. He promised.” 

“Not your fault,” Gabriel replied, the words carefully neutral, despite the rising heat of frustration building in his chest. “How could you have known?” 

_ It’s not as if he’s lied about  _ exactly this _ before a dozen fucking times.  _

Gabriel felt unsteady and uncertain, and oddly resentful of Crowley - for believing for  _ one second _ that his just  _ asking _ Aziraphale not to hurt him would work. For suggesting that Gabriel needed to eat - and for the sneaking, unpleasant suspicion steadily creeping over Gabriel that he just might be  _ right _ about that. 

For his fucking  _ carefulness _ and  _ consideration _ , and making Gabriel feel for even a few minutes like someone who actually  _ deserved _ those things at all anymore. Gabriel had just about accepted his fate - working out the recompense of his sins at Aziraphale’s hands, at Aziraphale’s non-existent mercy, indefinitely - when  _ Crowley _ had to decide to come along and  _ care _ . To try to  _ help _ him. 

In some ways, it only made everything harder - Crowley caring. 

Crowley asking him what he liked, asking him to  _ choose _ . 

Choices were dangerous. 

Choices were opportunities to  _ get it wrong _ . 

Gabriel could feel the panic closing in on him again, the confusion and terror of not knowing exactly what was going to happen - only knowing that he had absolutely no control over it whatsoever, and that what he  _ wanted _ to happen meant nothing. 

It was better if he just accepted that.  _ You have no control - over anything.  _

_ Just do what he says. Everything he says…  _

_ “... it’ll be okay…” _

Crowley’s hushed and urgent words fell into harmony with Gabriel’s own tumbling thoughts, and he blinked, looking up at Crowley when at last the tea was prepared. 

“Remember - it can’t hurt you, right? Some of it’s… actually kinda nice. You might enjoy it.” 

Gabriel shuddered, giving Crowley a dubious look. He hesitated before venturing in a breathless whisper, “I - I don’t think I can…” 

“Just have to get through it,” Crowley whispered back with a sympathetic wince. “Get it down, even if you hate it…”

“Don’t forget to prepare a setting for yourself, my dove,” Aziraphale called out from the living room. 

They both went very still and silent. 

Gabriel swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” he called back. 

“It’s just tea,” Crowley said softly, watching as Gabriel took down the box Aziraphale had shown him from the cupboard and began carefully arranging its contents on a small plate. “And… biscuits, apparently. Biscuits are nice.” 

“Please don’t,” Gabriel sighed, too weary, too overwhelmed to mask his frustration. 

Crowley said nothing, the tension rising between them as they stood there in silence. Crowley waved a hand over the collection of packages on the counter, performing some miracle over them. 

“Keep it all at… optimal temperatures,” he explained awkwardly. “Make it - better. Less terrible. I don’t know.” He sighed heavily. “I wish-” He stopped, lowering his head and rubbing his thumb and forefinger at his temples. He looked up at last, and when he spoke again, there was a weight behind the words that Gabriel knew was about much more than his rambling attempts at conversation, or his touching without asking, or even the bruises he’d promised Gabriel  _ wouldn’t happen _ while he was gone. 

“ _ I’m sorry _ .” 

Gabriel closed his eyes, bracing his hands on the counter, and did not answer. 

Crowley turned to go - and a swift sense of mingled remorse and alarm swelled up inside Gabriel. Crowley was only trying to help, was doing the best he could in a situation that was impossibly horrible for both of them.

He reached out abruptly to catch Crowley’s hand - his fear of being left alone with his own uncertainty and apprehension outweighing the alarm he felt about the proximity of the cuff on his wrist to Crowley’s hand… about his presumption in reaching out to grab Crowley… about what Aziraphale would think, and  _ do _ , if he saw what Gabriel had just done. 

In that moment, all that mattered to Gabriel was that he  _ did not want Crowley to go _ . 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding Crowley’s gaze. “I - I trust you.” 

Crowley’s eyes went wide - his expression startled and stricken. He moved in swiftly, impulsively, putting his arms around Gabriel in a quick, firm hug, before pulling back to meet his gaze again. He hesitated over his words, and Gabriel could nearly  _ see _ his mind turning over and rejecting the useless options - the ones that would offer no real comfort. 

_ “It’s all right…” _

_ “It’s gonna be okay…” _

What Crowley said when at last he spoke - eyes anguished and aching with Gabriel’s pain - meant  _ so much more _ . 

“I’m  _ here _ .” 

Hot tears stung Gabriel’s eyes, and he nodded, swallowing back a sob. 

Crowley let go of him and left the kitchen, just as Aziraphale called out again with clear irritation. 

“It’s going to be time for supper by the time you serve the tea!” 

Gabriel’s stomach clenched, and he drew in a steadying breath, taking a moment to regain his composure as Crowley deflected Aziraphale’s complaints in a light, teasing tone. 

“Patience, angel. It’s a virtue or something, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale grumbled something unintelligible in response, and Crowley continued. 

“My fault. I got in the way, laying out the things for supper.” 

“I’m coming, sir,” Gabriel called out, examining the tray one last time for any small errors he might have missed - three cups, three saucers, three spoons - the china teapot steaming in the center, surrounded by the sugar dish, a tiny pitcher of milk, and the small plate laden with pretty, colorful biscuits. 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said as he left the kitchen to find Crowley and Aziraphale already seated at the dining room table. “Your tea is ready, sir.” 

Gabriel could feel Aziraphale’s sharp, critical gaze boring into him as he crossed the room to stand beside the table. He was trembling, the silver tray unsteady in his hands. The quick, faint rattle of the china against the metal seemed to echo Gabriel’s own nerves. He carefully set the tray down on the edge of the table and began to lay out place settings - in front of Aziraphale first, and then Crowley, and then a third one before the conspicuously empty third seat that hadn’t actually existed when Gabriel had walked into the kitchen. 

As he set the last one down, Aziraphale firmly caught his arm, just above his wrist. 

Gabriel went very still, not daring to move. 

“Gabriel, my dear,” Aziraphale began, soft and patient as he edged Gabriel’s arm just slightly nearer to the steaming china teapot, near enough for Gabriel to feel the heat of it - less than an inch from his skin. Aziraphale tutted with false concern, shaking his head. “You’re trembling so. You must be very careful.” 

“I-I’m sorry, sir…”

“I’m not finished speaking.” Aziraphale’s words went cold and warning, his hand tightening on Gabriel’s arm and drawing it a fraction of an inch nearer to the hot china. 

Gabriel swallowed hard, keeping perfectly silent and still in Aziraphale’s grasp. He closed his eyes as Crowley leaned forward in his seat a little, lips parted to speak, but remaining silent for the moment. 

“You’ve gone to such care with the place settings, and they do look lovely,” Aziraphale continued. “It would be a shame if you were to allow your usual clumsiness to spoil it. To drop and break a piece of my fine china, or to spill the tea. It’s very hot, fresh from the kettle, isn’t it?” 

Gabriel remembered the searing agony of the marks on his hands when they had first been made - now muted to a dull, constant burn that had nearly faded away. A tremor passed through him at the veiled threat, and he nodded hurriedly. 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, desperately apologetic. “ _ Please _ …”

“Quiet.” Aziraphale’s soft, patient tone was unchanged. 

Gabriel obeyed. 

“Just… be careful.” 

“Yes, sir,” he whispered again. 

When Aziraphale at last released him, Gabriel took a moment, and a steadying breath, before carefully taking up the teapot to fill all three cups. That nerve-wracking task successfully completed, he set the teapot down on the silver tray again and let out a trembling sigh. 

“Have a seat,” Aziraphale instructed with a polite smile and a gesture toward the single empty chair, positioned directly between his and Crowley’s seats.

Gabriel obeyed, feeling supremely awkward with his hands folded in his lap, unsure of what to do next. Aziraphale gave him an affectionate, sympathetic smile - and then reached out swiftly toward him. 

Gabriel flinched slightly, but didn’t try to evade the touch, as Aziraphale passed his hand lightly down Gabriel’s cheek, his thumb brushing across Gabriel’s mouth - and immediately the throbbing ache in his head, the sting of his split lip, vanished away. 

“We wouldn’t want anything to interfere with your ability to appreciate this new and exciting experience, would we?” 

Aziraphale gave Crowley a pointed look, and Crowley nodded in response, giving him a forced, appreciative smile. 

“Right, angel. Hot tea and all. Good thinking.” 

“Th-thank you, sir,” Gabriel whispered. 

Aziraphale gave him a single nod of acknowledgment, before directing his attention to the arrangement on the table. 

His heart sinking with dread, having only the very faintest idea of what would come next, Gabriel waited in quiet obedience, wishing miserably to be allowed to go kneel at the detestable stool, or to be strung up by his wrists in the backroom in agonizing solitude again, or to be lost somewhere in the deepest bowels of Hell. 

_ Anywhere but here.  _

“The tea itself is Gabriel’s work as well,” Aziraphale remarked unnecessarily with a bright, encouraging smile, as if Crowley hadn’t stood right there at the counter and watched Gabriel prepare it. His smile faded into something colder, and vicious, as he concluded just before taking a sip, “So, you’ll understand if it tastes like rancid garbage.” 

Gabriel flinched, bracing himself for Aziraphale’s furious reaction to his best efforts. 

He had no idea what it was  _ supposed _ to taste like, really - but if it  _ did _ taste terrible to Aziraphale, Gabriel knew he’d hear about it. 

And worse. 

Aziraphale tilted his head thoughtfully, surveying the cup for a moment before mixing some milk and sugar into it.

Crowley didn’t bother with either. He took a generous sip from his own cup - then relaxed a little with obvious relief, before turning his questioning gaze toward Aziraphale. He didn’t seem overly concerned with the tea itself at all, so much as with Aziraphale’s reaction to it. 

With what the tea meant  _ for Gabriel _ . 

_ He’s trying so hard, trying to make this easier on you. Trying to help.  _

Gabriel felt a swift rush of guilt for his earlier terseness with Crowley, for surrendering to his panicked impulse to push him away. 

_ The least you can do is try, too.  _

“Good tea,” Crowley remarked pointedly, not taking his eyes from Aziraphale. “Tastes just right. Well done.” 

Aziraphale tilted his head in a little half-nod of guarded agreement. 

“An adequate first attempt.” His eyes narrowed on Gabriel, and the archangel felt his chest seize up with panic at the cold smile that touched Aziraphale’s lips. “This is… what, your…  _ seventh _ attempt, perhaps?” 

Gabriel’s mind raced back over the harrowing hours spent trying to perfect this new and unfamiliar skill, and he swallowed hard, trying to suppress his impending panic. 

“I… don’t know, sir,” he whispered, staring down at his own cup. “I - tried several times, I - I  _ tried _ …” 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley’s voice was taut and edged with warning. 

“I said it was  _ adequate _ , didn’t I?” Aziraphale sighed, leaning back in his seat a little and idly stirring the contents of his cup. “But don’t take  _ my _ word for it, my dove.” He lifted his spoon and waved it vaguely toward Gabriel. “Have a taste. Tell us how  _ you  _ think you’ve done.” 

Gabriel felt the walls of the room closing in on him like a trap. No matter what it tasted like to him, no matter whether it tasted like it was supposed to… 

… was there a  _ right _ answer? 

“Here, why don’t you take a little milk and sugar in yours?” Crowley suggested with a smile that was a little tight and a little desperate, taking up the small pitcher of milk and pouring some into Gabriel’s cup, before adding a couple of tiny white crystalline cubes from the sugar dish. “Tastes sweeter that way.” 

Gabriel glanced dubiously down at the cup. He never would have considered putting any sort of Earthly substance into his Heavenly corporation before. He wouldn’t have deigned to allow it to be corrupted in such a way. He glanced anxiously up at Crowley, who gave him an encouraging nod and a smile. 

_ You’ve already been defiled with worse, haven’t you?  _

_ Seared with the fires of Hell in the deepest parts of your corporation… _

Gabriel cast his gaze toward Aziraphale, whose sharp eyes were locked onto him with malicious amusement. 

_ And… worse.  _

Gabriel glanced between the demon who was trying so hard to protect him, to help him through this treacherous interaction - and the angel who seemed intent on slowly, utterly destroying him. 

There  _ was _ worse than anything that either Earth or Hell had to offer. 

Gabriel knew that now. 

He carefully picked up the cup and took a big gulp from it, wincing as the liquid scalded his throat a bit - though the wide mouth of the cup and the generous splash of milk had cooled it somewhat. 

“Well?” Aziraphale pressed, impatient. 

“It’s, uh… it’s hot,” Gabriel observed, not sure what else to say about it. 

The tea  _ was _ hot - but nowhere near as hot as it had felt when dripped straight from the kettle onto his hands between his five failed attempts. 

Aziraphale smirked. “Yes, but the  _ flavor _ . How does it taste?” 

Gabriel cautiously took another sip, considering the question, and realizing with relief that… Crowley was right. 

It… wasn’t terrible. 

There was a faintly familiar note to the flavor that made his stomach roll unpleasantly - but the off-putting taste was mostly masked by another sort of flavor that was totally new to him, and far more pleasant. He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. 

“It’s… it’s okay,” he said, surprised even as he said it that he meant it. “It tastes… good?” 

“Sweet,” Crowley supplied, with an encouraging nod. “Sweet and… creamy, from the milk.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel replied quietly, filing away the words as he took another sip. “It…” 

He stopped immediately when Aziraphale looked at him. 

_ Don’t have permission. Weren’t asked a question.  _

_ Shut your fucking mouth.  _

But… Aziraphale was watching him still, his expression expectant. He didn’t seem upset, but rather curious. 

_ He  _ did _ ask you,  _ Gabriel realized.  _ What it tastes like. And you haven’t answered yet.  _

“It tastes like…” He frowned, trying to find the association his mind was attempting to make. “... like the park, where I go running? In the springtime, mostly. A little… like…”

“Ah, like the flowers and the plants a bit, I’d expect?” Crowley suggested, eyes widening for a moment as he made the connection, before he gave Aziraphale an impressed grin. “What you’d call an  _ herbal _ sort of flavor.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel nodded, though he had no idea, and simply assumed Crowley was right.

“Here, taste this.” 

Gabriel blinked, a bit taken aback when Crowley offered him his own cup. He glanced warily at Aziraphale, whose mouth twisted downward in vague distaste - but he nodded for Gabriel to obey, as Crowley held the cup a little nearer, urging Gabriel to take it. 

“Mine is just the taste of the tea alone, without the milk and sugar. You can separate that herbal taste, all on its own, yeah? A little  _ bitter _ … but still nice.” 

Gabriel took a sip, before carefully handing the cup back to Crowley. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, nodding, pleased with this unexpected discovery. “That tastes like the flowers in the park. Like they smell. It’s...nice.” 

He met Crowley’s eyes, his smile deepening at the pleased approval he found there - and then immediately faltering, falling away as he remembered. 

_ Aziraphale.  _

_ You’re not supposed to be  _ enjoying _ this, fuckwit.  _

_ He’s gonna be pissed.  _

To Gabriel’s amazement, Aziraphale did  _ not _ in fact appear to be pissed. 

He was smiling, and gave Gabriel an encouraging nod toward Crowley, wordlessly indicating that he should pay attention. 

Crowley was eager to show him some other new and -  _ probably _ not awful? - thing. 

“This is sugar,” Crowley explained, holding up one of the tiny cubes he’d put into Gabriel’s tea. “It’s what makes the tea sweet. Here, taste it.” 

Gabriel took it from Crowley’s hand, examining it for a moment. 

“It’ll melt…” Crowley warned, as Gabriel popped it into his mouth. “... in your mouth.”

Gabriel wasn’t really sure what Crowley meant by that until the coarse, rough feeling of the cube vanished into a small pleasurable burst of flavor on his tongue - a more concentrated version of the pleasant taste he’d first noticed in his own tea. 

“See? Not so bad, yeah?” Crowley said softly. 

“No,” Gabriel agreed. “Not so bad.” 

He cast an uncertain glance at Aziraphale, who was giving him a knowing, I-told-you-so sort of look, a single brow lifted - but he looked more amused and satisfied than annoyed. 

He didn’t seem  _ angry _ , at all. 

Gabriel hesitated a moment, lowering his gaze to the table before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes again. 

“Thank you, sir,” he said softly, gratified when Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “For… allowing me to join you for tea. It’s… an honor, and… a pleasure.” 

Aziraphale’s surprise faded into a magnanimous smile, and he nodded graciously. 

“You’ve earned it, my dove,” he conceded generously. 

It was oddly exhilarating, to feel that something he’d so dreaded was in fact not a cause for fear, after all - to be the focus of attention that was not centered around viciously highlighting his every flaw and mistake in order to call it out and punish it - to be treated like a  _ person _ again, with opinions and thoughts that actually might  _ matter _ to someone outside of his own mind. 

The illusion of equality vanished like the steam from the kettle’s spout as soon as the tea was gone. Aziraphale and Crowley retired to the living room to read, and Gabriel was left to clean up the mess left behind, at the dining room table and in the kitchen as well. 

He found himself trembling, but with relief rather than dread. 

_ That… really wasn’t so bad.  _

Crowley was right - and Gabriel was right to trust him. 

He eyed the remaining biscuits left on the plate as he washed the cups and saucers. Aziraphale hadn’t pushed for him to try them, and Crowley hadn’t suggested it - and Gabriel found himself feeling oddly…  _ disappointed _ . 

_ The tea was all right… and the sugar, that tasted good. _

_ Crowley said biscuits are nice… maybe I’d like them…  _

He momentarily considered tasting one, as he replaced the unused portion in the box to be consumed later. 

No, he decided. It had not been offered to him, and the last thing he wanted was to anger Aziraphale with a foolish, careless mistake now - not after tea had gone so surprisingly well. 

_ Next time… if no one offers, maybe you could...  _ ask _ to try one.  _

_ Aziraphale might like it if you did that. _

Gabriel let out a deep breath as he surveyed his work - the immaculate kitchen and dining area, every surface perfectly clean, every dish and spoon put back into its place. 

He smiled a little, a tentative hope springing to life within him.

With Crowley’s help and guidance, he’d managed to not only survive tea with Aziraphale, but… to actually  _ enjoy _ it, to a certain degree. 

_ Maybe supper will be okay, too.  _

Gabriel returned to the living room and quietly knelt at the stool, waiting for Aziraphale to inspect his work. He braced himself for impending punishment - but there was none. Aziraphale emerged from the kitchen with a pleased smile and a gentle brush of fingers through Gabriel’s hair. 

“You’ve done quite well, my dove.” 

Gabriel felt a swelling warmth in his chest, tears of relief springing to his eyes. “Thank you, sir.” 

Aziraphale just patted the back of his head lightly before going to the sofa where Crowley waited, and settling in close beside him. Gabriel stayed as he was, his hands resting on the stool, upright on his knees and waiting for the next command. 

“Shall we read a while, my love?” Aziraphale suggested. 

“Yeah, sounds nice,” Crowley replied agreeably, mild concern in his gaze as it fell on Gabriel. “Let  _ him _ rest while we do, yeah? He’s about to collapse.”

It was only then that Gabriel realized - he was already listing a bit on his knees. The exhaustion of his efforts over the tea, mingled with his relief, the release of the tension of the dread he’d felt over how horribly wrong it all could have gone, to leave him in a pleasantly hazy state that was very near to sleep. But Crowley’s attentive, thoughtful words sent a jolt of alarm through Gabriel’s mind, jarring him back to wakefulness.

_ No one gave you permission to sleep, you useless idiot. Pay attention.  _

He straightened on his knees, swallowing hard, keeping his eyes carefully downcast - acutely aware of the two pairs of eyes focused on him. Aziraphale broke the silence at last, his tone hushed and relaxed. 

“Come here, my dove.”

Gabriel froze, eyes darting up to Crowley, who was frowning. 

“Angel, what…” 

“It’s all right, darling,” Aziraphale assured him, pressing a kiss to his temple without looking away from Gabriel. A faint edge of impatience crept into his tone as he insisted softly, “Come along, Gabriel,” with a warm, disarming smile and a light pat against his thigh. 

It was a gesture that Gabriel knew well - and not just from that morning. Many times over, Aziraphale would sit in his chair and call Gabriel to kneel at his feet, offering comfort in the wake of brutal punishment, soothing away Gabriel’s desperately stifled cries of pain as the archangel’s tears soaked into the well-worn fabric of his trousers. 

Aziraphale was beckoning Gabriel to a familiar position, one he’d taken more times than he could count. 

But… only when Crowley wasn’t home. 

Never with Crowley, right there, close at Aziraphale’s side. 

Gabriel cast an anxious glance toward the demon, who, now that he’d realized just what was happening, was attempting to look utterly unconcerned about it. It was clear to Gabriel, despite his false air of casual boredom - Crowley was very upset. 

Gabriel did not want to upset Crowley. 

Aziraphale patted his leg again, a bit more insistently, eyes narrowed in warning. 

Gabriel wanted even less to upset Aziraphale. 

He rose awkwardly to his feet, swiftly crossing the room to settle on his knees, leaning into the base of the sofa, and resting his head on Aziraphale’s leg. 

“There we are,” Aziraphale said, his voice soft with approval. “I’m not going to harm you, dove. You’ve done well - and when you do well, you’ll be rewarded. You’ve  _ earned _ your rest.” 

Gabriel was very much aware of Crowley’s gaze, watching him subtly as Aziraphale began to gently stroke Gabriel’s hair - so he closed his eyes, swallowing back the shame that rose up in his throat and flushed his face. 

He’d taken a very similar position with  _ Crowley _ , too - several times, now. 

In a strange way, it felt as if he was  _ betraying _ Crowley somehow, by allowing this to happen - though he wasn’t sure exactly how. 

_ You don’t  _ allow _ anything to happen.  _

_ You don’t decide. Just do what he says.  _

Gabriel chose instead to focus on the soft, soothing touch of Aziraphale’s fingers running slowly through his hair, Aziraphale’s soft, rhythmic voice as he began to read the book that Crowley held for him. Aziraphale was calm, not angry - and for all the tense, restless unease Gabriel could feel radiating from the demon - Crowley was _ there _ , and that knowledge alone made Gabriel feel a little bit safer. 

He felt himself begin to drift on the cresting wave of his own exhaustion, his confusion and uncertainty fading into the recesses of his mind as he was lulled to sleep by Aziraphale’s hand. 

Before he knew it, that same hand was pushing insistently at his shoulder, rousing him from sleep again. 

“Wake up,” Aziraphale said, a teasing, nearly musical lilt to his voice. “It’s nearly time for supper.” 

Gabriel’s stomach clenched, and he clutched at the edge of the sofa, hurrying to rise. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I - I’ll get it ready…”

“No, no, slow down, my dove,” Aziraphale soothed him, placing a hand on his shoulder and pressing him back down onto his knees. “You won’t be serving us tonight. You’re our guest of honor.” 

Gabriel blinked sleepily, noting that Crowley was no longer on the sofa. He turned to scan the room, just in time to see a flash of black and fiery red disappearing into the kitchen. 

“No, tonight is all about you,” Aziraphale declared. 

Gabriel looked up into his face with rising apprehension which was only fueled by the malicious amusement in his eyes, belying his warm smile and soft words. 

“You  _ like _ it when things are  _ all about you _ , don’t you?” 

Gabriel shivered. 

Something was off. 

He glanced anxiously toward the kitchen again, wishing Crowley would come back. Wishing he could catch a glimpse of his expression, could somehow gauge what to expect for this evening. Aziraphale’s mood seemed to have shifted in some subtle but undeniable way that left Gabriel feeling uneasy, a deep, instinctive alarm surfacing within him. 

“And it will be, my dove,” Aziraphale told him, words warm with false affection. “Rest assured, for this meal, you will  _ most certainly _ be the center of attention.” 

He reached out to cup the back of Gabriel’s head, pulling him in close and holding him in place as he leaned down to kiss his temple, drawing back to give him a secretive smile. His words were deceptively soft, unsettlingly teasing. 

“ _ Trust me _ .” 


	32. Chapter 32

When Aziraphale began to read, his tone was surprisingly, considerately hushed. Crowley leaned into his shoulder - a position that had the single considerable drawback of much closer proximity to Aziraphale than he liked… but one distinct advantage, as well. 

This close, Aziraphale couldn’t see Crowley’s face - couldn’t take note of Crowley’s troubled gaze, locked onto the kneeling archangel. 

Gabriel rested his head against Aziraphale’s leg as he’d been instructed, his eyes closed - but he wasn’t sleeping. Crowley could tell by the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were tightly clenched in his own lap, his teeth still digging into his lower lip. Trying his best to be quiet and still, Gabriel was nowhere near the peaceful haze of sleep, still physically braced for impending pain. 

Aziraphale was certainly not helping - the fingers of his free hand trailing idly through Gabriel’s hair as he read. He must have actually  _ wanted _ Gabriel to sleep, because for once, Aziraphale did not allow his hand to drift any lower than the back of Gabriel’s neck, where he would every once in a while gently massage before returning his hand to Gabriel’s hair. 

And ever so slowly, Crowley watched the tension fade from Gabriel’s shoulders, his clenched fists loosening, his mouth going slack as he finally drifted off.

Even when he did - Aziraphale did not stop touching him. 

Crowley  _ hated _ it. 

He hated the subtle unspoken threat behind the deceptively gentle touch, hated the way that Gabriel trembled under it but didn’t dare pull away or shake Aziraphale’s hand off of him. 

He hated the fact that Gabriel  _ could not _ say no. 

But there was something else there as well, an unsettling little spark of a feeling that Crowley didn’t want to name, didn’t  _ dare _ , because… deep down, beneath his frustrated outrage, his sense of helplessness in watching Gabriel forced to endure the angel’s affection - Crowley  _ knew _ what it was. He’d felt it before when watching Aziraphale touch Gabriel, though something in the feeling had…  _ shifted _ . 

He wanted to get up and move between them, to push Aziraphale out of reach, and put his arm around Gabriel, and reassure him that Aziraphale would not be allowed to touch him again. He wanted to take Gabriel somewhere quiet and secret, somewhere Aziraphale didn’t know about, and keep him there until the haunted terror had left his eyes, until Gabriel believed that he could finally,  _ truly rest _ . 

Crowley wished it was _ his _ hand, instead of Aziraphale’s - gently caressing through the fine, coarse hair at the back of Gabriel’s neck, feeling the taut, clenched muscles soften with relief, relaxing under his touch, as he whispered reassurance and comfort to the archangel, for however long it took for Gabriel to believe him. 

And, in this tragic fantasy of Crowley’s, once he’d  _ made _ these grand promises of safety and protection - he actually  _ kept _ them. 

Aziraphale read for hours. 

At some point, much to Crowley’s relief, he withdrew his hand from the sleeping, oblivious archangel and shifted the book to it, wrapping his other arm around Crowley and pulling him in close, pressing a kiss into Crowley’s hairline. 

Crowley snuggled in closer to him with an appreciative little hum, glad that Aziraphale couldn’t see his face, couldn’t read the revulsion he felt. He’d gladly accept the unwanted embrace, if it would keep Aziraphale’s hands off Gabriel for a little while - if it would allow the archangel a brief period of unmolested peace. 

After a while, Aziraphale’s hand lifted from Crowley’s shoulder to play through his hair, and Crowley shivered - swiftly disguising it as a pleasurable reaction, shifting in nearer and turning his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder. As Aziraphale continued, Crowley’s heart was struck with how achingly  _ familiar _ the contact was - how many countless times he and his angel had sat right where they were, just like this, until the words faded out into a comforting hum, and Crowley drifted off to sleep - trusting and safe in his angel’s arms. 

But Aziraphale  _ wasn’t  _ safe - not anymore. 

Perhaps he never had been. 

And Crowley  _ could not _ afford to lose himself to sleep, now. 

If he slept, there was no way of knowing what Aziraphale might do to Gabriel in the meantime - and as exhausted as Crowley felt, as long as it had been since he had taken the luxury of  _ actually sleeping _ , he knew that the reality of the situation was: he was used to it, he enjoyed it, but… he  _ didn’t need _ it. 

Right now… Gabriel did. 

For several hours, the archangel was allowed the rest his weakened corporation required, Aziraphale’s attention consumed by Crowley and the open book in his hand. Crowley’s apprehensions rose when Aziraphale concluded a chapter and at last closed the book and set it aside. 

“Nearly time for supper, isn’t it, love?” he remarked mildly. 

“I suppose it is,” Crowley admitted. 

“Do your plans require much in the way of setup?” Aziraphale asked. “If they do, perhaps you ought to go ahead and see to it.” 

Crowley sat up a little, frowning down at Gabriel, whose head had shifted as his body had relaxed against the base of the sofa, and was now pressed awkwardly between Aziraphale’s leg and the arm of the sofa in a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable - though the archangel seemed too lost to sleep to care. 

“Let him rest while I do, yeah? He’s got a bit more time,” Crowley reasoned. 

Aziraphale let out a huffy, impatient sigh. “You needn’t worry, darling,” he insisted. “I’m not going to hurt him the moment your back is turned. I behaved according to your wishes during our tea, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah,” Crowley drawled, fixing Aziraphale with a flat, knowing look. “When I was sitting right there. But while I was out shopping - you know, and my  _ back was turned _ ...” 

“There was barely a mark on him, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “It was simply reinforcement of the lesson. And I must say he did very well.” He turned his serene, approving smile on Gabriel, reaching out a hand to stroke through his messy hair, too lightly to startle him from sleep. “Now he knows how to make and serve a proper tea. That’s a valuable skill.” 

_ Yeah, _ Crowley thought bitterly, watching Aziraphale’s hand and willing Gabriel to sleep through it.  _ He can add it to ‘being your maid’ and ‘sucking your cock’. _

“The proof is in the pudding, as they say,” Aziraphale concluded smugly, before turning his eager gaze toward Crowley. “Will there be pudding?” 

“I picked up several desserts,” Crowley assured him, swallowing down his irritation. “Though I’m not sure we’ll get that far, angel. Or… that  _ he _ will, rather. First time and all - we ought to take it slow.” 

Aziraphale sighed, rolling his eyes. “You’re not going to be any fun at all about this, are you?” 

Crowley suppressed the shiver that ran down his spine at the cruelly careless tone of the question. “Just… leave him alone a while longer, yeah? I’ll come get you both when it’s ready.” 

“All right, love, all right,” Aziraphale relented with affectionate tolerance, his expression all innocence as he pointedly withdrew his hand from Gabriel’s hair and folded it together with the other in his lap. “We’ll just be waiting for you, right here.” 

Crowley glanced dubiously toward the dining room - more of a nook than a room, really, fully visible from the living room - and the kitchen beyond it. Preparations for the meal would take him in and out of both rooms. It was unlikely that Aziraphale would be able to get away with much without his notice. 

“All right,” he agreed at last, giving Aziraphale a warning look. “Won’t be long.” 

Aziraphale nodded once - solemn and exaggeratedly obedient. 

With a host of reservations, and a steadily building dread low in his gut, Crowley reluctantly made his way to the kitchen, desperately hoping he’d made the right choices to somehow make this dinner as bearable, if not pleasant, as the tea the archangel had already successfully endured. 

***********************************************************************************************

_ “Trust me.”  _

Gabriel stared up at Aziraphale, searching his face, trying to read something of his intention past the deceptively warm smile on his lips. He didn’t seem…  _ angry _ , exactly. But there was an eager light, a malicious anticipation in his eyes that made Gabriel quiver with apprehension. His eyes were still heavy with sleep; but his racing heart flooded his corporation with adrenaline that drew him swiftly to sharp awareness. 

Crowley stepped back out into the dining room, within Gabriel’s line of sight, and glanced toward the sofa - but did not seem at all troubled by what he saw, looking away again quickly as he began to arrange plates and silverware on the table. Aziraphale followed Gabriel’s gaze to Crowley, his expression softening with affection, but said nothing. 

By the time Crowley had returned to the kitchen, Gabriel had focused his thoughts enough to formulate a question. 

“Sir,” he whispered, “please, sir, have I - did I  _ do _ something…?” 

His words shuddered to a stop as Aziraphale caught his trembling hand, and lifted it patiently to Gabriel’s own lips, giving him a rueful, knowing little smile. 

“Turn my back for a moment, and you just forget  _ all _ the rules, don’t you, my dove?” he mused, tutting a little and shaking his head. “Seems perhaps you’ve been allowed a bit too much liberty recently, haven’t you?” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched. 

_ What does he know?  _

The only liberty Gabriel had been allowed at all recently had been in Aziraphale’s absence, and in what few moments Crowley had managed to steal… whispered snatches of conversation while Aziraphale was reading or otherwise distracted. 

Had Aziraphale heard them after all, from the stairs - or while they’d spoken in the kitchen? Heard Crowley promising to look out for Gabriel, to help and protect him? Heard Gabriel speaking freely to Crowley, arguing with Crowley, or  _ fuck, talking back _ to Crowley and  _ snapping at him _ ? 

“No,” Gabriel insisted, a tremor in his voice. “No, I - I’m sorry…”

Aziraphale tilted his head with a soft sigh, his hand gently cupping Gabriel’s cheek. Then without warning, or even the slightest shift in his calm expression, Aziraphale drew back his hand and slapped Gabriel with breath-taking force. Before Gabriel could recover, Aziraphale’s hand had locked around his throat, bending him back against the sofa and pinning him there as he leaned in close, his voice barely more than a soft, measured breath against Gabriel’s ear. 

“ _ Quiet _ .” 

Gabriel nodded, his heart thudding against his ribs, biting his lip and tasting the metallic salt of his own blood in his mouth. He cast his panicked gaze toward Crowley, who had just entered the dining room again, but didn’t so much as glance up at them as he set down a wide platter laden with things that Gabriel didn’t recognize. 

“Oh, he can’t hear us,” Aziraphale explained, his words back to a matter-of-fact tone and a level volume. “Or see us. At least, not - as we really are, at this moment.” He leaned in close to Gabriel, his tone smug and secretive as he cast his gaze back to Crowley, smiling. “What Crowley sees when he looks toward us right now is me sitting reading silently to myself - and you, still fast asleep at my feet.” 

Like the illusion in his office, Gabriel realized - or in the doorway to the backroom, when Aziraphale had convinced Crowley to come back home with him, and led him  _ right past _ Gabriel, bound and suffering in the backroom, without Crowley having any inkling that Gabriel was there at all. 

This was different, though - a more complex illusion. 

A still scene - the simple image of an empty room, masking what really lay beyond a doorway or window, required far less energy than creating an entirely false,  _ realistically moving _ image to be perceived in the place of reality. And to prevent Crowley from  _ hearing _ them as well, on top of it… 

_ He’s  _ much  _ more powerful than Crowley,  _ Gabriel realized with dread.  _ Crowley’s found a way to resist him so far, but if Aziraphale knew he was doing it - he would stop him.  _

_ Crowley is in danger.  _

Gabriel’s fearful thoughts short-circuited into sheer terror when Aziraphale left his seat on the sofa to kneel next to Gabriel, one strong hand still pinning him against the sofa, while the other slid up under the hem of Gabriel’s kilt. 

A cruel smile twisting Aziraphale’s mouth, he murmured, “I can do whatever I like.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Gabriel choked out, desperate, panicked, his hand instinctively falling to circle Aziraphale’s wrist as hot tears of shame sprang to his eyes. “Don’t, please don't…”

Aziraphale’s hand clenched tight around Gabriel’s throat, his eyes narrowed and blazing with fury. The playful note fell away from his voice, his words low and warning. 

“ _ Take your hand off me _ .” 

Gabriel obeyed immediately, fingers splayed wide as he drew his hand back, despairing tears sliding down his face as he shook his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, sir, please, please don’t hurt me…”

Aziraphale made a swift upward gesture with a single finger, and Gabriel found his wrists drawn up by the cuffs around them, together over his head against the back of the sofa. Almost immediately, though, he felt the power that held them there vanish - and a moment later, he understood why. 

“You’re going to keep them there,” Aziraphale said softly. “Just where I’ve placed them, and you’re not going to  _ dare _ resist me again, are you?” 

“No, sir,” Gabriel whispered, breathless, nearly frantic, his hands clenching into useless fists over his head as he resisted the impulse to lower them, to put them between himself and Aziraphale, to claim back the space he needed to  _ breathe _ . “No, sir, please…”

“You’ve become awfully defiant lately, haven’t you, my dove?” Aziraphale observed, eyes narrowed with suspicion as he returned his hand, unimpeded, to its leisurely exploration. “Talking  _ back _ .  _ Fighting _ me…” He laughed, a low, dark chuckle of disbelieving amusement. “As if you have the  _ slightest chance _ of overpowering  _ me _ .” 

“I don’t, I know I don’t,” Gabriel sobbed, shaking his head helplessly. “I d-didn’t mean to, sir,  _ please _ …”

Aziraphale glared at him as his hand slid between Gabriel’s legs, gripping his effort and twisting viciously. The instant agony of it stole Gabriel’s breath, and he drew in a deep, shuddering gasp, even as Aziraphale leaned in close, his free hand leaving Gabriel’s throat to run soothingly through his hair. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he whispered, preemptively shushing the deep, desperate sob of anguish that would find no voice until Gabriel could find his breath again. “Quiet, dove… unless of course you want  _ more _ …” 

Gabriel shook his head, lowering one arm to press it across his mouth, to stifle the sound before it could escape. 

“What do you suppose is the reason for it?” Aziraphale mused, light and casual, even as his grip eased, but he continued to violate Gabriel under his clothing, fingers stroking idly up and down the archangel’s length, then back between his parted thighs. “This incessant rebellion of yours - your inability to be consistently obedient?” 

“It’s my fault,” Gabriel gasped out, hushed and thick with shame. “I’m stupid, and rebellious, and I c-can’t learn, I’m sorry…”

“Oh, but you _can_ , my dove,” Aziraphale assured him, in a tone of dark promise that sent a shiver down Gabriel’s spine. “And I’m going to ensure that you do. It’s only… I truly thought you’d have _learned..._ _by now_ ,” he said, sad and regretful, falsely innocent. “And you _had_ made progress, hadn’t you? It’s almost as if… someone’s been going about undermining my efforts… but there’s no one else here besides us... and _Crowley_. Is there?” 

“No,” Gabriel protested, urgent and pleading. “No, sir, it’s just me. I’m a f-failure, I sh-should know better by now but I keep fucking it up, I’m s-sorry…”

“Hmm. Yes,” Aziraphale agreed with a nod and a frown. “Yes, that  _ is _ quite a bit easier to believe.” 

All at once he abandoned his exploration beneath Gabriel’s kilt, shifting in close, one leg pressed tight in between Gabriel’s, his hands circling Gabriel’s wrists and pinning him down. The cuffs were looser now than they had been in the beginning, which was a relief; they didn’t come into contact with his skin nearly as constantly or with as much pressure. 

Now, Aziraphale’s merciless grip pressed them hard into his wrists, as Aziraphale leaned in close, his mouth inches from Gabriel’s... sharp, piercing eyes boring into his. 

“Do you know what you’re  _ not _ going to  _ fuck up _ , my dove?” he sneered softly. “This supper that my Crowley has put so much thought and effort into preparing for us. He was so very happy with how well tea went this afternoon.” His smile faded into something dark and resentful. “He is so  _ rarely _ happy these days.” 

“I won’t,” Gabriel promised in a desperate, breathless gasp, shaking his head emphatically. “I won’t, I swear I won’t…” 

He bit his lip to stifle the words as Aziraphale dug his thumb into the largest of the red, tender spots that remained on Gabriel’s hands and arms - just at the base of his palm.

“Do you remember?” he asked, pensive and leading. “Why you received these?” 

Gabriel nodded, tears spilling from his eyes. “I-I made mistakes, I - spoiled the tea…”

Aziraphale squeezed the burned spot hard, and Gabriel stifled a pleading whimper as the principality leaned in close. 

“If you spoil this dinner for Crowley,” he explained, hushed and patient. “I’ll put the kettle on again, Gabriel. ‘Til it’s boiling.” He leaned in yet closer, close enough to whisper in Gabriel’s ear. “And I’ll have you pour it down your own throat.” 

Gabriel shuddered, shaking his head in a wordless plea. 

As horrifying as such an order would be, Gabriel knew that he would not be able to refuse it. But… could he bring himself to actually  _ do it _ , if ordered? If he  _ did _ refuse, he knew by now that Aziraphale would only come up with something  _ worse _ to do to him instead. 

“Please, sir,” he sobbed out. “Please, I’ll be good, I’ll d-do… whatever you want…”

“I  _ want _ you…” Aziraphale eased his grip on Gabriel’s wrists, lowering one hand to gently brush the tears from his face. “... to be  _ quiet _ … while I am  _ talking _ .” 

Gabriel nodded, biting into his lip. 

“Crowley is quite eager to teach you all sorts of things about food,” Aziraphale continued. “And you will accept everything he offers you. You  _ will eat it _ , Gabriel,” he declared, his voice trembling with furious certainty. “Whether you want to or not. You will pay  _ enthusiastic attention _ when Crowley is attempting to teach you. And you may not like it, but you  _ will  _ be respectful and appreciative of our generosity - in sharing our food,  _ and _ sharing the lesson.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, flinching immediately, uncertain if he’d made a mistake or not - sobbing with relief when Aziraphale just gently stroked his hair. “Yes, sir…”

“Very good, sweet dove,” Aziraphale murmured, kissing his cheek before at last backing off and returning to his seat on the sofa. A firm hand at the back of Gabriel’s head helped him to sit forward on his knees again, though he was trembling so hard that he collapsed against the side of the sofa again. “I know you’ll do your best to please me, won’t you? And to please Crowley?” 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly, his breath coming in swift, shuddering gasps. “Yes, sir,” he sobbed. “Yes, sir, I will…”

Aziraphale gently caressed Gabriel’s face, healing the sting of the blows he’d dealt him, magically wiping away the streaks left by Gabriel’s tears. He then took Gabriel’s hands and placed them together against his leg - passed his own hand over them and healed away the burns that remained there. Finally, he tilted Gabriel’s chin up, a stern expression in his eyes when they locked onto those of the captive archangel. 

“And… there’s nothing you feel you should tell me, before we enter this endeavor. Nothing you might like to say…” 

He glanced pointedly toward the dining room, where Crowley was surveying the table with a thoughtful frown. He turned and went back into the kitchen, and Aziraphale looked back to Gabriel with a single lifted brow. 

“... while you have the opportunity?” 

_ Maybe he already knows everything. Maybe this is a test, a trap…  _

Gabriel glanced toward the empty dining room, uncertain, heart racing with his fearful indecision. 

_ Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he  _ suspects _ , and you’d only be revealing something he doesn’t have any way of knowing for sure…  _

Gabriel swallowed, glancing down at his own folded hands on Aziraphale’s knee. 

_ Don’t tell him anything he has no other way of knowing.  _

_ You wouldn’t want to get  _ me _ into trouble, would you? _

“No, sir,” Gabriel whispered, looking up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes with a level calm he didn’t actually feel at all. “I - I have nothing of value to say.” 

Aziraphale’s expression was inscrutable. He smiled wryly, nodding once. “That is  _ almost _ always accurate.” He leaned in close, holding Gabriel’s gaze with solemn eyes. “You cannot hide anything from me, dove. You know that.” 

Gabriel faltered, looking away. “I - I know,” he whispered. 

He didn’t know what to believe - what to do.

“ _ Trust me _ ,” Crowley had said. 

And then…  _ Aziraphale had said it, too _ . 

His lips parted, hesitant, uncertain of what he was going to say even as he drew breath to speak. 

Then abruptly Aziraphale waved his hand toward the dining room, just as Gabriel realized that Crowley was swiftly approaching them. Gabriel wasn’t certain as to the exact nature of the illusion Aziraphale had allowed Crowley to see in the moments before the demon crossed the threshold into the living room - but when he entered the room, Crowley seemed to find nothing amiss. 

“Soup’s on,” he said brightly, with a smile that was hopeful and taut and anxious. “And you know… all sorts of other things, too. Supper’s ready.” 

Aziraphale gently patted Gabriel’s shoulder, directing him to rise, as he got to his feet as well. Gabriel suppressed a shiver at the soft pressure of Aziraphale’s hand at the base of his spine, steering him firmly toward the dining room. 

When they reached the table, Aziraphale tugged the middle chair a bit closer to his own as he sat down. 

“Right here, my dove,” he directed, patting the seat with a soft, disarming smile. 

Gabriel obeyed, casting his panicked gaze over to Crowley. Crowley gave him an encouraging smile, nodding - as he very deliberately moved his own chair closer to Gabriel’s, casting a brief challenging look in Aziraphale’s direction.

The principality’s smile faded just the slightest bit - and Gabriel’s heart sank. 

_ This is going to be a fucking nightmare.  _

_ *********************************************************************************************** _

The dinner table was significantly larger than it usually was. Crowley had had to make it so, in order to accommodate the wide array of foods he’d procured. He didn’t actually intend to use all of them, but he’d wanted to be sure there were plenty of options for Gabriel to sample. He’d expanded the table as he’d added items to it, making sure its appearance was still elegant enough to be satisfactory to Aziraphale. 

And here they were, the three of them, all crowded around one end. 

Aziraphale didn’t look particularly pleased by the arrangement. 

_ Well, he can be pissed if he wants to be. He started it.  _

_ Not abandoning him to you, angel. Terribly sorry.  _

_ But not for that.  _

“First of all, as requested,” Crowley began, bright and airy as he snapped his fingers, and the perfect place setting in front of Aziraphale was replaced with a large silver platter from the opposite end of the table. “Your favorite sushi selection, Mr. Fell.” 

Crowley gave Aziraphale a teasing smile as he lifted the lid from the platter, and Aziraphale returned it warmly, before taking in the elaborate and beautiful arrangement with wide, appreciative eyes. 

“This looks  _ scrumptious _ , darling,” he declared, picking up the pair of chopsticks alongside the assemblage with deft, expert fingers. “Gabriel, my dear… you simply  _ must  _ try one of  _ these _ …”

“No, no,” Crowley objected, holding up a hand before Aziraphale could go any further. “That’s  _ yours _ , angel. We’re starting a lot slower than that, all right? Simpler flavors before we get to something as complex as sushi. We’ll work up to that - maybe even another night, yeah?”

_ Or perhaps never…  _

Aziraphale’s lips turned down in a petulant frown that was very nearly a pout - but he redirected the piece of sushi caught between his chopsticks toward his own mouth, closing his eyes for a moment in blissful satisfaction as he chewed it. 

Relieved at his effective distraction, Crowley turned his attention to Gabriel, lifting the cover from a small glass bowl to reveal the humble offering inside. Crowley dipped a teaspoon into it, retrieving a small taste of the sweet, soft substance. 

Applesauce. 

Aziraphale let out a short, rude huff of laughter. “Really, Crowley,  _ honestly _ .” He smirked. “ _ Apples _ ? Back to your tempting ways, are you?” 

Crowley… hadn’t even considered such implications of his choice. He’d been far too preoccupied with making sure the foods he chose were  _ easy _ for Gabriel, to think about the greater depths of their potential religious symbolism. He glanced anxiously at Gabriel, who was staring at the spoon in Crowley’s hand with solemn eyes. 

For an archangel, Gabriel was shamefully undereducated in religious mythology. 

But… this was no myth. 

Gabriel knew  _ exactly _ why Aziraphale was laughing. 

Crowley met the archangel’s troubled gaze with earnest eyes, willing him to accept the offering - to believe that Crowley’s motives were not to hurt Gabriel, but to protect him. 

“It’s good,” Crowley assured him softly. “Sweet. Soft. You don’t even need to chew it, just… taste it in your mouth, and swallow it down…”

“That should certainly be easy enough,” Aziraphale remarked. 

Crowley froze, his stomach lurching, a hot rush of outrage flooding his chest. With an effort, he ignored the comment and focused on Gabriel. The archangel had winced at Aziraphale’s comment as well, but held Crowley’s gaze, before nodding and carefully taking the spoon from Crowley’s hand. 

_ I trust you…  _

Crowley watched as Gabriel took the applesauce from the spoon, closing his eyes for a moment - before he blinked them open, swallowing and beaming at Crowley with delight. 

“Good?” Crowley asked, his face breaking into a soft smile, his heart warmed at the archangel’s reaction. 

“Yeah.” Gabriel nodded, his smile faltering a little as he glanced uneasily at Aziraphale. “Thank you.” 

“All right. Good start.” 

Crowley reached for the next dish - a glass platter laden with various sorts of fruit, cut into small, manageable chunks. He had a _plan_ for this meal, a _very carefully laid out_ _plan_ that he’d come up with in the Bentley on the way to do the shopping. He hoped it would work, hoped the thoughtful progression through the evening’s adventure would make the idea of food less frightening to Gabriel, and hopefully, allow him to eat enough to regain some of his strength. 

_ Assuming that’s the only problem.  _

Which Crowley was  _ not _ assuming. Not in the slightest. 

Crowley selected a thin slice of pale yellow fruit from the tray, holding it out to Gabriel by the rind. 

“You won’t like it,” he warned the archangel, then shrugged, considering. “No one really likes it.” 

Gabriel frowned, eyeing it with suspicion. “Then... why do they eat it?” 

Crowley suppressed a grin at the very valid question. “They don’t usually, not on its own. They mix it with other things, mostly, but… I want you to taste the flavor of it.” 

He held it out, and Gabriel carefully mimicked Crowley’s positioning as he took it, turning it back and forth and frowning at it skeptically. 

“This is what  _ sour _ tastes like,” Crowley told him. “Don’t bite into it, don’t take a lot, just… touch your tongue to it, just a taste…”

The face the archangel made was _ ridiculous _ , and Crowley couldn’t help his soft, low laugh as he took the remainder of the fruit from Gabriel’s hand and set it on the small plate in front of him. 

“Well done,” Crowley encouraged him, reaching for the next bit from the tray - a small piece of mango. “You have to do a bit more than taste this, or swallow it. You have to chew it first.”

Gabriel frowned. “That’s… the thing you do with the teeth, right?” 

Aziraphale scoffed. “Best not get the two mixed up,” he advised with a disgustingly innocent smile. 

“Yes,” Crowley addressed Gabriel’s question, the firm note in his voice drawing the archangel’s anxious eyes away from Aziraphale and back to him. “You chew with your teeth. Chew it a little, and then swallow it. Yeah?” 

Gabriel nodded slowly - but hardly hesitated at all before taking the offered bite. 

“What’s it taste like?” Crowley asked, tilting his head speculatively and watching the archangel’s face for his reaction. 

It was nothing short of  _ delight _ . “It’s both,” Gabriel declared with a note of triumph. “It’s… sweet  _ and _ sour.” 

“Yes, exactly!” Crowley cast a pleased look toward Aziraphale, who gave him a slight nod of concession at his success. “Do you like it?” 

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. I like the… the apples better, but… it tastes nice.” 

Next Crowley moved onto “salty”, allowing Gabriel to taste just a few tiny grains from the edge of his plate on the tip of his finger, before offering him something with a similar taste but more substance - a light saltine cracker. 

Unfortunately, Crowley had neglected to give much thought to the issue of table manners. 

“It’s dry,” Gabriel declared around the crumbly mouthful, bits of cracker flying as he made a face of clear distaste. 

The expression of vaguely confused displeasure faded from his eyes, giving way to  _ dread _ , as Aziraphale reached out to catch his jaw, turning Gabriel’s face toward him and immediately commanding his attention. 

“We do not talk with our mouths full of food, my dove, it’s extremely rude,” he stated softly. “ _ Shut your mouth _ … and swallow that down.” 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly, and Aziraphale released him. He struggled to obey, trying to swallow down the bite with little success and visibly mounting panic in his eyes. 

“That one’s on me, I’m afraid,” Crowley said, carefully calm as he snapped his fingers and produced a tall glass of clear, cold water. “Should’ve told him, how else would he know? Here, archangel, take a sip of this, wash it down.”

Gabriel hurriedly obeyed, his shoulders falling with relief as he met Crowley’s gaze with grateful, watery eyes. 

“All right…” Crowley patted his hand lightly, soothingly, before removing the lid from another dish, this one piping hot. “Fish and chips - a British staple… though contrary to what American telly would have you believe, we  _ do _ eat other things…” His words trailed off at the blank stare they were met with, and he shook his head. “Unimportant. Try this.” 

He offered Gabriel a bit of fried potato from the plate, and Gabriel took it, a little wary after the slight debacle of the cracker. 

“A bit salty… soft on the inside, crispy outside… give it a go,” Crowley encouraged. 

Gabriel obeyed, chewing slowly and thoughtfully, before nodding. 

Next Crowley had him try a bit of fish, which was met with a somewhat less unpleasant expression than the lemon. 

“Not a fan, eh?” Crowley concluded. 

Gabriel shook his head with an apologetic grimace. “No, sir, I - I like the - the chips, though.” 

He cast an anxious glance at Aziraphale, who was giving him a rather severe look for such an innocuous comment. 

“‘S all right,” Crowley assured him. “You’re not gonna like everything. Here, if you don’t care for the fish…” He took the lid from another dish, snapping his fingers to place it within Gabriel’s reach. “Americans eat their chips with these.” 

Gabriel stared down at the intimidating stack of bread and meat and vegetables, before looking back up at Crowley dubiously. 

“ _ How _ ?” 

Crowley laughed. “You pick it up with both hands, and you take a bite. Try to get past the bread, yeah? Get a little bit of everything.” 

Gabriel carefully obeyed, eyes going wide with alarm as a bit of ketchup dripped down his chin. Aziraphale made a disgusted face, though Crowley wasn’t sure whether it was more at Gabriel’s slight mishap, or the presence of the burger itself on his dining room table. 

Eyeing Aziraphale warily, Crowley quickly handed Gabriel a napkin, and thankfully did not have to explain to him how to use it. 

“What do you think?” Crowley asked as the archangel chewed the new food slowly, a perplexed frown creasing his brow. 

Gabriel started to answer, then glanced at Aziraphale with anxious eyes. He swallowed first and then carefully replied. 

“It’s… okay. Kinda… chaotic?” 

Crowley smiled, nodding slowly. “Makes sense, oddly enough. It’s a little…  _ much _ , when you haven’t ever eaten much at all.” He was quiet for a moment, casting Aziraphale a pointed look before meeting Gabriel’s eyes and declaring firmly, “You’re doing  _ very well _ , archangel.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Gabriel replied, quiet and humble. His eyes darted to Aziraphale again before he continued, hesitant, “I - I appreciate your teaching me about this, and - and the food. I - I’m sorry I didn’t want to do it, but - I think I feel better, now?” 

Crowley’s smile widened slightly. “Better, how?” 

“My, uh - my stomach hurt? For a long time, all the time, and - I thought it was, um - nerves? Or - or something, I don’t know, but - it’s gone now. It feels… better.” 

“Good.  _ Good _ .” 

Crowley released a heavy sigh of relief at the confirmation of his theory, and the knowledge that he’d at last managed to do  _ something _ to help the archangel’s miserable condition. If human food could help Gabriel regain some of his strength, or at least keep him from wasting away, well… at least that was  _ something _ . 

“Well… for a first meal,” Crowley said, glancing warily at Aziraphale. “I’d say that’s more than enough, yeah? Just… let that settle, take it slow… you can have a bit more later, all right?” 

“Yes, sir.” Gabriel let out a breath with relief, nodding gratefully. “Thank you, sir…”

“Oh, not  _ just _ yet,” Aziraphale cut in, a malicious light of anticipation in his eyes. “This meal can’t possibly be over so quickly - not when you haven’t even tried the sushi.” 

“Sushi might be a little much just now, angel,” Crowley warned softly, his stomach clenching with alarm. “He didn’t care for the fish. He’s had enough…”

“Nonsense, he just said how very hungry he’s been!” Aziraphale argued. “One little bite won’t hurt. Just a taste.” 

“No.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed coldly. “He’ll eat it whether or not he  _ cares _ for it, this is a  _ learning _ experience, isn’t it?” 

Crowley silently, stubbornly held his gaze, an unyielding challenge in his eyes. 

Aziraphale stared back at him with a cool smile before pointedly setting down his napkin and pushing his seat back a little from the table. 

“Or if not, I suppose we can find something else to do…”

“Fine,” Crowley broke in, terse with frustrated alarm. “ _ One piece _ , Aziraphale. Don’t push it, remember? He’s new at this.” 

“Yes, how delightful,” Aziraphale murmured, nodding in agreement. “A whole  _ world _ of new experiences. Here we are, my dear…” He patted the back of Gabriel’s hand, holding up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks. “... taste this.” 

Crowley eyed it, realizing with dismay what he was seeing, and swiftly plucked it from between the chopsticks and popped it into his own mouth before Gabriel could take it. He swallowed it quickly, giving Aziraphale a reproachful glare. For his part, Aziraphale looked highly offended, staring down at his empty chopsticks, and at Crowley’s slightly messy fingers with distaste. 

“How dreadfully  _ rude _ , Crowley…”

“Nice try, angel,” Crowley cut him off sharply. “We’re going for easy and mild tonight, yeah? I don’t think the dragon roll with spicy mayo is quite the ticket.” 

Aziraphale sighed, resigned and put upon, as Crowley selected a slice himself - a bit of eel roll, balanced  _ on a fork _ , which also scandalized the angel. Funny, Crowley observed with revulsion, how he had no problem with stringing up a naked archangel in his backroom and humiliating and torturing him until he cried... but seemed to draw the line at  _ using the wrong utensil _ . 

“Take this,” Crowley said, as Gabriel carefully took the fork, balancing it as he’d seen Crowley do. “It’s a bit of rice, bit of veg, bit of fish… sweet sauce on top.” 

Gabriel stared at it, then met Crowley’s eyes, uncertain. 

“‘S not bad,” Crowley assured him. “Sweet. Mild. Go ahead. Get it done, yeah?” 

Gabriel nodded, drawing in a steadying breath, before closing his eyes and aiming the bite toward his mouth. 

Just before it passed his lips - Aziraphale snapped his fingers. 

*****************************************************************************************

_ Don’t spoil the dinner for Crowley…  _

The command echoing in Gabriel’s mind was the only thing that kept him from falling apart entirely during the meal - caught as he was between Crowley’s hopeful, earnest gaze, and Aziraphale’s sharp, watchful glare. The slightest mistake was certain to lead to later punishment, Gabriel knew. 

But the worst mistake of all would be to bring all of Crowley’s efforts to nothing. 

To  _ disappoint _ him, when he’d tried so hard. 

To Gabriel’s relief… Crowley was incredibly easy to please. 

As the meal progressed through the tortuous first steps to the more challenging aspects of the menu, Gabriel found himself focusing more intently on Crowley - his bright, warm eyes and his encouraging smile, as he offered Gabriel small, unintimidating bits of food to sample, and helped him slowly adjust to the idea. 

When Gabriel saw the gigantic meat stack thing, he wanted to ask what he’d done to offend Crowley, that the demon would deliberately sabotage him in such a way. 

But… even that turned out to be… not terrible. 

Aziraphale’s hostility seemed to have softened in the face of Crowley’s pleasure - and Crowley truly was  _ so pleased _ with Gabriel. 

_ “You’ve done well, archangel…” _

The words warmed Gabriel’s heart and flooded him with relief - with the renewed sense that  _ trusting Crowley  _ was the thing to do. 

_ If Aziraphale knew anything for sure, you’d be strung up and half-flayed by now… or soaked in boiling water, or trapped against the wall with his hellfire cock up your ass. He wouldn’t be sitting here smiling and eating whatever that  _ particularly gross  _ gross matter is…  _

_ Trust Crowley. It’s going to be okay.  _

And then, all at once, just when he’d thought it was all but over, Aziraphale was demanding that he eat a piece of the gross, fishy stuff - and Crowley had stopped him, but then  _ Crowley _ was asking it as well, and Crowley looked hopeful and pleading, and Aziraphale was glaring in warning, and all Gabriel could do was _ trust Crowley  _ and put the terrifying, disgusting looking thing in his mouth. 

And all at once… Gabriel’s mouth was awash with flame. 

He choked on the fire that flooded his mouth, searing his lips and tongue with a white hot heat that made him cough and gag and struggle to get down the tangled lump of unfamiliar substances that remained in his mouth. 

“Angel, what did you do?” Crowley snapped, his voice raised with anger and alarm. 

“Oh, come now, Crowley, it’s just a bit of fun.” Gabriel could hear the cruel amusement in Aziraphale’s voice. “You can’t properly enjoy sushi without a touch of wasabi.”

“There wasn’t any wasabi on that,” Crowley muttered. “I  _ know _ there wasn’t, Aziraphale, you  _ bastard _ …”

“Here, have some more water, that ought to help,” Aziraphale cheerfully suggested, helpfully holding out the glass. 

Gabriel reached to take it, but Crowley intercepted it. 

“That  _ won’t _ help, it’ll make it worse,” he snapped, setting the water aside and instead picking up a large paper cup, removing a plastic lid from it and holding it out to Gabriel. “Here, archangel, take a sip of this, quick now, it’ll ease the burn…” 

Gabriel didn’t possess the capacity at the moment to question, to hesitate over the command. He simply wanted the pain to stop - and Crowley was promising that the medicine in the cup would make it do so. 

It was cold and mildly sweet, and it did ease the burn. Gabriel took another large drink from the cup, his chest heaving with deep breaths as the thick liquid coated his mouth. He looked down into the half-empty cup, staring at the creamy fluid that remained there… bubbly around the edges, white and viscous and oozing… 

And all at once, his stomach lurched, rebelling against the unfamiliar feeling of fullness, the incompatible combination of flavors and foods, and the disturbing, perceived familiarity of the thick, white substance in the cup… and in his mouth. 

_ Time for your penance, Gabriel…  _

Gabriel choked on the mouthful he still had, gagging and struggling to keep down what he’d already ingested - and in the process spewing out a fine spray of the white liquid all over the table… all over Crowley…

All over Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale lurched up away from the table in furious revulsion, toppling the chair behind him as he took a couple of steps back, staring down at his white-speckled clothing in disgust. Crowley was close at Gabriel’s side as he collapsed from his chair to his knees, gasping for breath. Crowley crouched low, one arm around Gabriel’s back, steadying him, speaking in a soft, soothing tone that couldn’t quite conceal his underlying alarm. 

“Swallow it, all right? Get it down before you choke…”

Gabriel struggled to obey, forcing what was left of the sushi and the white drink down, and sucking in air, too much, too quickly. 

“It’s all right,” Crowley insisted. “You’re all right, Gabe, yeah? Take a breath… that’s it, easy…” 

Gabriel gasped for breath, but he could still taste the remnants of the drink, could still feel it coating his mouth - and it made him made him want to be sick again. All at once behind him, Gabriel heard Aziraphale snap his fingers sharply, and he flinched, his heart clenching tight with fear. 

He was going to be in  _ so much trouble _ . 

The instantaneous results of the miracle surprised him. Immediately, the taste and feeling of the white liquid vanished completely from Gabriel’s mouth, from his clothes - from the table and every other place he’d accidentally spewed it. 

“There we are,” Crowley said, leaning down to catch his gaze with an encouraging smile. “You’re all right, aren’t you? It’s all cleaned up, all gone.” He looked over Gabriel’s shoulder, eyes solemn and worried as they met Aziraphale’s. “ _ No harm done _ .” 

“Oh, everything’s just going swimmingly,” Aziraphale retorted with scathing sarcasm. “Now that he’s spoiled the meal entirely.”

Gabriel’s stomach lurched with dread. 

_ No. Please, no…  _

“He hasn’t,” Crowley insisted, standing up straight. He let go of Gabriel, moving behind him, between him and Aziraphale. “You fixed it all, angel, it’s fine.” 

Gabriel ventured to turn a little on his knees, both afraid to see them and  _ needing _ to see them, to have some trace of warning before whatever was going to happen…  _ happened _ . 

Crowley’s back was turned to him, facing Aziraphale, his hands extended in a halting, appeasing gesture. Aziraphale glared past him at Gabriel with disgusted contempt and accusation. 

“But we all still know it happened, don’t we?” Aziraphale argued. “Still there, beneath the miracle, that - appalling visual, and revolting experience. I told you what would happen, didn’t I, dove?” 

Gabriel shuddered, shaking his head. “Please don’t,” he whispered. “Please, sir, I’m - s-so sorry…”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers again, and Gabriel cringed - opening his eyes to see that the stool had been transported from the living room to Aziraphale’s side. 

A steaming silver kettle sat upon it. 

Aziraphale’s smile was cold but serene, his words soft and steady. 

“Come here, my dove.” 

Gabriel felt as if he was frozen on his knees, unable to move or speak, barely able to breathe. 

“ _ No _ .” 

Crowley took a firm, deliberate step toward Aziraphale. 

“Angel, you’re not gonna do this… whatever the fuck awful thing you think you’re gonna do here…”

“Oh, I’m not going to do a thing,” Aziraphale declared softly, not taking his eyes from Gabriel. “Our sweet little dove is going to do precisely as he’s told… and  _ get over here _ … and prove that he’s capable of obedience after all. But so long as he does that, I’m not going to lay a finger on him…”

Gabriel choked back a despairing sob. “Y-yes, sir…” he gasped out, nodding in desolate submission. 

“Don’t,” Crowley said sharply, one hand extended back toward Gabriel to halt him - the other still held out toward Aziraphale. “Angel, no. I’m - I’m not going to let you do this…”

Aziraphale let out a derisive laugh before the sentence was finished, rolling his eyes and flicking his wrist in Crowley’s general direction. Crowley let out a startled cry as he was flung several yards away - unharmed and still on his feet, but well out of reach of either angel or archangel. 

“Aziraphale, what the  _ fuck _ ! Let me go!” 

Crowley snarled, struggling against an unseen force that seemed to hold him there, limbs jerking as he tried to free himself, to get to Gabriel, to help him. 

_ You can’t help me. He’s stronger. He wins.  _

_ He always wins.  _

“ _ Come here _ , Gabriel.” 

Drawn by Aziraphale’s sharp tone, and sharper eyes fiercely focused on him… aware that the principality could force him into the place and position he wanted as easily as he’d done to Crowley… Gabriel nodded to indicate his intention of obedience, and crawled from the spot where he’d fallen to kneel at Aziraphale’s feet.

He shivered, his eyes locked onto the kettle, and the fine, hot mist that rose from its spout. He shook his head, eyes welling with tears and obscuring the dreadful sight. 

“Please, sir,” he choked out. “Please.  _ No _ …”

Aziraphale slapped him fiercely, and Gabriel covered his face with his hands, his shoulders quaking as he fought to suppress his panicked sobs. Aziraphale refused to allow him to hide, snatching a handful of his hair near the back of his neck and jerking him up high on his knees, forcing his face up toward Aziraphale. 

“Simply can’t control your mouth, can you?” he snapped, viciously accusing. “Can’t remember to be obedient for the space of a  _ single hour _ .” He nodded toward the kettle, his mouth tight with cruel satisfaction. “This ought to shut you up for a while.” 

He released Gabriel with a rough shove in its general direction, and Gabriel drew in a sharp breath, automatically drawing back a little from it - but not far. He didn’t dare. 

“ _ Pick it up _ .” 

Gabriel reached toward it with halting hands, tears flowing down his face. 

“Angel, stop it,  _ don’t do this _ !” Crowley cried in helpless, desperate frustration. “ _ Please  _ don’t do this to him, it was my fault! It was too much, I shouldn’t have given him so much, just - please stop, let him go,  _ stop it _ !” 

“Do as you’re told, Gabriel. Pick it up.” 

Gabriel took the kettle in both hands, though he immediately withdrew his fingers from the searing hot body of it with a little hiss of pain. The hand still wrapped around the handle trembled, the kettle unsteady in his grasp. 

Gabriel lifted the seared forefinger of his free hand to his lips, looking up at Aziraphale, desperate, silently pleading. 

“No,” Aziraphale said flatly, shaking his head. “You told me yourself, didn’t you? You’ve nothing of any value to say.” 

Gabriel’s heart clenched in his chest with understanding. 

All at once, he knew what Aziraphale wanted - what it would take to avert this brutal punishment. 

And bring on an entirely other horror, no doubt. 

But…  _ this _ , he  _ could not _ do. 

“Please,” he gasped out, barely a breath. “Please, no… please, I can’t…” Distraught, overcome with panic, Gabriel abruptly realized that he was disobeying, that he was  _ still fucking talking _ , and pressed his hand over his own mouth, shaking his head in silent apology. 

Aziraphale’s face twisted into a mask of fury, and he grabbed Gabriel’s hand, tearing it away from his mouth and holding it firmly against the side of the kettle. Gabriel let out a choked, plaintive cry of pain, which Aziraphale responded to with another vicious blow to his temple with a sharp, closed fist. 

“You can and you will,” he snapped. “ _ Now _ you decide to shut your mouth? Too late, dove. You’re going to do exactly as you’re told right now. Pick it up.  _ Pick it up _ .” 

“Stop it!” Crowley shouted. “Angel, why do you have to do this? He’s done  _ everything _ to please you…”

“Oh, let’s drop the pretense, shall we?” Aziraphale sneered as he straightened abruptly, turning his glare on Crowley. “He’s done it to please  _ you _ , hasn’t he? Don’t think I didn’t hear you - coaxing him in the kitchen.  _ Bargaining _ with him as if he gets to  _ decide  _ whether or not he’s going to eat, whether or not he’s going to  _ obey _ .” 

Aziraphale spun around to face Gabriel, who was holding the kettle in one hand again, trembling and lowering his body toward the floor when Aziraphale focused on him again. Aziraphale crouched beside him, gripping his hair. 

“You don’t, dove. Do you? Do you get to _ decide _ ?” 

“No, sir,” Gabriel wept. “No, sir, I d-don’t get to decide anything, I just… d-do as I’m told,  _ please _ …”

“Stop,” Crowley repeated, his voice sounding weary and breathless with his invisible struggle. “Angel, stop. He’s  _ not  _ going to do this.” 

“Oh,  _ well _ ,” Aziraphale sneered with exaggerated, mocking shock. “If the great and benevolent  _ demon Crowley _ says so, then it must be true, yes? Who better to determine what’s fair and just, than one so kind. So compassionate. So  _ concerned  _ with Gabriel’s  _ well-being _ , aren’t you?” He paused, glaring down at Gabriel as he continued, softer, with a strange emphasis on the words that Gabriel couldn’t begin to understand through his panic and pain and exhaustion. 

“So  _ deserving _ of his  _ trust _ …”

“It’s not his fault, angel,” Crowley insisted, the words quieter, but taut and trembling. “It’s me you’re angry at. Stop this.” 

Aziraphale turned back toward Gabriel. “If I have to do it myself, Gabriel, you’ll regret it. Because I won’t stop with your mouth. I’d imagine having your  _ eyes  _ boiled in their sockets would be a rather memorable experience, wouldn’t it?” 

“ _ Stop _ it, Aziraphale… or I’ll  _ end _ it.” 

Aziraphale froze. And then a cold, disbelieving smile settled on his lips, as he turned to face Crowley again. 

“What exactly are you going to  _ end _ , my love?” he asked, dangerously soft. “And how?” 

“All of it,” Crowley declared, low and deadly serious, his golden eyes blazing with purpose. “Bring it all crashing down, burn it to the ground. See if I don’t.” 

Aziraphale’s smile faded, his mouth tight, eyes glittering with cold fury. 

It didn’t make sense to Gabriel - though granted, it was difficult to process anything through the fog of panic that flooded his brain. 

End it? End  _ what _ ? 

Crowley did not seem to be in any way capable of changing anything about this situation.

_ Or… he would have already. If he could.  _

_ There’s nothing he can do… or he’d have done it.  _

_ Right? _

“Leave the kettle, Gabriel… and leave the room. Crowley and I need to speak privately.” 

Gabriel blinked, reeling from the sudden, abrupt shift. He set the kettle back down on the stool, heart racing as he stared first at Aziraphale, then Crowley - who was looking back at him with solemn, aching eyes. He nodded once at Gabriel to confirm Aziraphale’s order. 

“Yes, see, you have _his_ _permission_ ,” Aziraphale taunted, bitter and quietly scathing. “Now go.”

All at once, Gabriel didn’t want to. 

He didn’t want to leave Crowley here with Aziraphale, bound and helpless and at the mercy of his jealous rage. 

_ But… you can’t help him. You’re not strong enough. You’ll only make it worse if you try.  _

“Y-yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, bracing against the table to get to his feet, taking a second to gain his balance on trembling legs before heading toward the door. 

“But, Gabriel, my dear?” 

He froze, then turned back toward Aziraphale. “Yes, sir?” 

“Don’t go far.” Aziraphale didn’t look at him, his cold smile locked onto Crowley. “This won’t take long.” 


	33. Chapter 33

Crowley knew he did not deserve the protective concern in Gabriel’s eyes, as the archangel stood at the door leading down to the shop, his hand closed around the doorknob, his troubled gaze cast back over his shoulder toward Crowley.

Crowley made his expression as calm and reassuring as he could manage, giving the archangel a nod. 

_ Go.  _

Despite Aziraphale's bitter remarks - it wasn't permission. It was a thinly veiled plea for the archangel's unmerited compassion and concern for Crowley’s well-being… to be  _ withheld _ .

_ Please. Just go. Let me bear this, whatever he's going to do, just… go, while you can. _

_ Even if it's only for a little while. _

And it would be, Crowley knew - only a little while. Gabriel was still wearing the hellfire cuffs, and with Aziraphale in this furious, just-barely-hinged frame of mind - Crowley had no idea how he was going to convince the angel to take the cuffs off and let Gabriel go. 

But at least for now, Gabriel was far away from that bloody kettle, and Aziraphale's attention was locked onto Crowley instead. 

Aziraphale held Crowley's gaze as the door closed behind Gabriel, lifting a hand to snap his fingers over his shoulder toward the door. Crowley recognized the familiar soundproofing miracle. 

It was best, really.

Crowley could just imagine the anxious archangel waiting and listening just at the top of the stairs - powerless to stop whatever it was Aziraphale intended to do. If it got bad enough, Crowley wouldn’t be at all surprised if Gabriel returned, with the sole intention of helping Crowley in the only way he knew how, in a way he’d already offered - by drawing Aziraphale's focus back onto himself. 

In that moment, shamefully, Crowley almost wished for it to happen. 

With a casual flick of his hand, and the coldest smile Crowley had ever seen on his lips, Aziraphale sent Crowley flying from the spot where he was frozen, back several yards against the wall behind him. 

It was a strange sensation - an impact that Crowley had expected to be sharp and painful, somehow magically cushioned, as if the wall had been padded before he reached it. A firm, jarring impact without any pain, like being hit with a pillow… 

… or shoved down into a mattress…

All at once, the generalized sort of pressure holding Crowley against the wall began to feel frighteningly specific. He imagined the feeling of Aziraphale's fingers snaking around his wrists, Aziraphale's weight pinning him in place, and his heart raced with his rising alarm.

_ Aziraphale doesn’t want to hurt me… He’s angry, but he still doesn't want to hurt me, or he'd have let me hit the wall… _

The thought offered only the hollowest of reassurances. 

Crowley had never felt fear like this. 

He'd been  _ afraid _ , before, of course - countless times he'd been helpless, at the mercy of someone more powerful than himself. He'd been physically threatened, manhandled and tossed about with violent intent - tortured, and worse. 

But it had never been like this.

Because  _ this _ … was  _ Aziraphale _ . 

The one he'd trusted with his bodily corporation and his eternal existence on more occasions than he could count. The one with whom he'd stood holding hands - the young Antichrist positioned between them a mere technicality - as they'd boldly faced down the End of All Things.

He'd seen that fierce fury in the angel's eyes on more than one occasion. 

He'd just never seen it leveled with such cold, ruthless intent, on  _ him.  _

Crowley struggled uselessly against the invisible force that held his back to the wall, his wrists pinned down helplessly at his sides. He tried to press forward, but it felt like slogging through impossibly thick mud, sucked down deeper with every attempt at a step, rather than gaining any freedom at all.

Aziraphale swiftly closed in on him, and Crowley's heart lurched as he braced himself. He had no idea what the angel intended - only that he was powerless to stop it. 

Aziraphale stopped just inches away, cold fire smoldering in his furious eyes - his rage for the moment restrained, just behind the tightly pressed line of his lips. 

Crowley very much wanted him to keep it there. 

"Angel…" He spoke first, his words low and cautious. "You have to stop. This… this has to  _ end. _ "

His breath caught in his throat when Aziraphale's hand moved toward his face. He suppressed a flinch and set his jaw, glaring up at Aziraphale in silent defiance.

Aziraphale withdrew his hand slowly without quite touching, a regretful softness in his eyes at Crowley's response to the mere suggestion of his touch. 

Then his expression hardened.

"Then end it," he said simply, in a tone of quiet challenge. "That's what you said you'd do, isn't it?" A smile of cool amusement touched his lips. "Tell me, my love… how exactly are you going to do that? Certainly not by making use of any  _ physical  _ advantage."

He looked Crowley up and down with the sort of derisive assessment that made Crowley's face flush with shame… and with  _ hurt  _ that he should have known better than to still feel. Despite all the brutality he'd seen from Aziraphale these past months, to receive the same sort of contemptuous dismissal from  _ his angel _ that he was accustomed to receiving from his superiors in Hell - it stung more than Crowley wanted to admit. 

_ He’s not, _ Crowley reminded himself.  _ Not your angel. Not your anything. Not anyone you even recognize, anymore.  _

"No," Aziraphale concluded, "no, you said you'd 'burn it all down'. And as I don't believe you despise me enough even now to have meant that in a  _ literal _ sense… I rather think you mean to tell Gabriel."

Crowley held his gaze, and Aziraphale blinked in mild surprise at the wordless confirmation, nodding once. Then he leaned in, hushed and secretive.

" _ Everything? _ ” He grimaced. “Because really, darling, I hardly see  _ that  _ ending well for  _ anyone _ ."

At this point, Crowley was beginning to think he’d take an  _ ending _ to this situation, period.  _ Any _ ending - well, or otherwise. But as Aziraphale went on, his doubts began to resurface, anxiety creeping in around the edges of his thoughts and undermining his determination. 

“Suppose you tell him,” Aziraphale suggested, thoughtful and speculative. “I’d expect you ought to have the cuffs off, first, yes? Because as long as he’s wearing them, he can’t exactly  _ do _ anything with the knowledge you impart to him, can he? He’s not capable of taking them off of himself. Are  _ you _ capable of taking them off of him, Crowley?” 

“Suppose I don’t know until I try, do I?” Crowley countered, glaring at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale scoffed softly, reaching out to trace gentle fingers along the back of Crowley’s hand. Crowley jerked away, his hand clenching into a frustrated fist when he found himself incapable of evading the affectionate touch. 

“You’d burn your hands to ash - right down to the wrists - before you’d get them off,” Aziraphale said, falsely regretful. He drew in a breath, eyes downcast before he lifted them to meet Crowley’s and admitted quietly, “And even if you  _ did _ get them off… there’s still every chance that it’d all be for nothing.” 

“I knew it,” Crowley spat out, furious. “Angel, what have you done to yourself? How are you more powerful than him? It’s  _ not _ just the cuffs…”

“It’s not,” Aziraphale admitted, soft and level, no trace of shame in his eyes. “And I  _ won’t _ tell you precisely how, because you’d attempt to stop me; and I won’t apologize for seeking and finding a means of better ensuring our survival. The illusion - the  _ perception _ of power is not enough to protect us indefinitely, Crowley.” He was quiet for a moment, measuring his words, before he continued, “I’ve made the mistake before of prioritizing Heaven’s, and  _ Gabriel’s _ opinion of me - and I will never do so again. I will always,  _ always _ put  _ us first _ .” 

_ You haven’t. Not for a long time…  _

Crowley drew breath to voice his protest, but before he could speak, Aziraphale had moved in swiftly, his oppressive nearness stealing Crowley’s breath again, the fierce intent in his eyes making Crowley’s heart race. 

“If you tell him everything, Crowley… then giving him any freedom at all would be putting our safety at risk. I would  _ never _ let him leave here again, knowing that at any point he chose, he could open his mouth and ensure our destruction. You know that.” 

Crowley swallowed hard, his eyes downcast. 

He did know it. 

Telling Gabriel the truth wouldn’t solve anything. It was no longer anything more than a foolish, hollow threat. 

_ It was more than that once, though.  _

Crowley felt sick with shame, and the most useless of regret. 

_ You could have ended all of this so easily, so long ago - but it’s too late.  _

_ You’ve missed your chance.  _

“Once again,” Aziraphale continued, a softly taunting echo of Crowley’s thoughts, “you’d be trying to help him… but you’d only make his situation worse, wouldn’t you? Tell him the truth… and you’ll only steal away what scrap of freedom is left to him.” He laughed, soft and cruel, and Crowley winced even before the words left his lips. “You do realize that’s become something of a pattern for you, darling?” 

Crowley did. 

He turned his face away from Aziraphale, blinking back frustrated tears. “There are others who could help,” he ground out, unwilling to be defeated just yet. “Who could stop you.” 

“Anathema?” Aziraphale suggested, a subtle note of contempt in his voice. 

Crowley’s stomach dropped. 

“ _ No _ ,” he snapped, glaring up at Aziraphale. “She’s just a human girl, she’s no threat to you.” 

“Certainly she isn’t,” Aziraphale agreed, dismissive. 

“ _ Michael _ , on the other hand…” 

Aziraphale blinked, visibly startled. Then a slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face, as he shook his head. “You’d brave Heaven… hoping that you might actually  _ reach  _ Michael before some other ambitious or overzealous or simply  _ panicked _ angel strikes you down. In the hopes that when and if you  _ do _ manage to  _ actually communicate _ with Michael - she’ll believe a word you have to say, and  _ not _ see it as some sort of a trap into which you’d seek to lure her.” Aziraphale went quiet, his smile fading, bitter resentment burning in his eyes. “You’d risk all of this, place yourself in such grave danger… for  _ him _ .” 

Crowley’s eyes brimmed with tears, his words coming out hushed and thick. 

“I did it for you.” 

_ All of it. So many things I did for you, and I shouldn’t have, why did I ever let it go this far?  _

“To save my life,” Aziraphale agreed, his words trembling with hurt and betrayal. “But now you’re willing to risk it, aren’t you? Bring Michael and the host of Heaven here to my home,  _ my sanctuary _ … on  _ Gabriel’s _ behalf.” Aziraphale’s lips twisted into a bitter, angry smile, and he shrugged. “I’m stronger than Gabriel now. Perhaps I  _ could  _ take Michael on. Perhaps… not quite yet.” 

_ Not yet?  _

Crowley frowned, troubled. 

_ Getting stronger still, are you, angel?  _

_ How? How are you doing this? _

“Perhaps she kills me,” Aziraphale continued, his tone deceptively mild and unconcerned. “You know she’d kill you next, without hesitation, as soon as she understood what’s been happening here - and  _ your part _ in it, Crowley. Let’s not forget about _ that _ .” 

He leaned in closer to Crowley, one hand braced against the wall beside Crowley’s head, eyes glittering with vicious, triumphant accusation. 

“But none of this speculation really matters at all, does it? Because we both know you’re not so very self-sacrificing as all that - are you? We did what we did - switched places, and faced down each other’s destruction - because it was our best chance at  _ survival _ . Because if we hadn’t, they’d have surely ended us both. But it wasn’t your primary instinct, was it? No, when it comes down to it, every time, my love - your first impulse is to  _ run _ .” 

Crowley tensed, drawing back against the wall as Aziraphale’s smile became nasty and malicious, his words a scathing, contemptuous accusation. 

“Unless of course, you’ve nowhere else to go,” he sneered. “In which case you opt to bury your head in the sand. To hide from reality, rather than face it. And the reality here, my darling, is that I couldn’t possibly have done any of this without you.” 

Crowley shook his head, turning his face away, swallowing back the knot in his throat. “No….” he whispered.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Aziraphale hissed. “You know it, Crowley. You placed that seed of fear into his heart, set the idea in my mind - and then you  _ fed _ it with your stories, every time I asked to hear it again… you equipped it with your hellfire blade, with the restraints necessary to bind him, with tools and weapons I wouldn’t have conceived of, not on my own - not without  _ your _ infernal influence.” 

“I didn’t,” Crowley whispered, panic and shame rising up to choke him. “I never wanted you to…”

“You don’t hand someone a whip unless you’ve on some level accepted the idea that they might use it,” Aziraphale cut him off, quietly knowing. “You gave me the cane, and the blade, and the whip, and the cuffs - all manner of suffering made possible with your implicit approval. Put them in my hands as your preferred alternative… just so long as I  _ didn’t _ use my cock.” Aziraphale drew back a little, shaking his head in disgust. “Your objections have never been about sparing his suffering. It’s always been about you holding onto what’s yours.” 

“No,” Crowley choked out, shaking his head. “I didn’t know…”

“You didn’t  _ want _ to know,” Aziraphale corrected sharply, and Crowley flinched at the accuracy of the words, a dagger struck deep in his heart. “My wily serpent… from the beginning, right from the Garden, you’ve accumulated millennia of experience with all sorts of temptations. You know what to look for… how to read a heart… how to see what someone desires… and then see that they get it. You know too much… and me too well… to have been so blind.” 

Aziraphale’s smile was sad and knowing, his words a soft echo of memory. 

“You’re far too clever, Crowley… far too clever to have been so stupid.” 

Crowley flinched. 

“You’ve been a part of this from the beginning. No sense pretending otherwise, is there?” Aziraphale tilted his head, studying Crowley with a pensive gaze as he lifted his fingers to tenderly run through Crowley’s hair, pushing it back from his face - unfazed when Crowley jerked his head away. “But by all means, darling… yes, let’s have him come back up here - tell him the truth, shall we? Every last bit of it.” 

“Don’t touch me,” Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale went still, his eyes hardening as he withdrew his hand and stepped back. 

“He  _ trusts  _ you so, after all,” he continued as if Crowley hadn’t spoken, except for the edge of resentment to his words. “He should certainly believe it if he hears it from the lips of his benevolent protector - his only ally in the midst of his suffering. I’ll admit it,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “I do take a measure of  _ satisfaction _ in his suffering.” His smile faded into something ugly and malicious. “I should very much enjoy seeing that  _ trust _ \- that hope of impossible rescue fade from his eyes when he learns just  _ how _ he was entrapped here. And that he’ll  _ never _ leave again. And that it’s  _ all because of you _ .” 

Crowley couldn’t lift his gaze from the floor - his guilt and shame a weight around his neck, bearing down and holding him where he was as surely as the power Aziraphale was exerting. 

“And it wouldn’t make any difference,” Aziraphale concluded softly. “It’d all be for nothing, my love. He’s seen with his own eyes, and felt in his own flesh that I’m far more powerful than he is. You could tell him everything… he could believe  _ every single word _ … and still he wouldn’t dare to defy me to that extent.” He glanced toward the stairs with a knowing, satisfied smile. “I assure you right now, he’s waiting on his knees for me in the backroom. Awaiting his punishment.” 

“Don’t,” Crowley pleaded, at last finding the will to meet Aziraphale’s eyes again. “He tried so hard, angel. He was so afraid of displeasing you, he’s  _ trying _ …”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale sighed. “It seems his priorities have become a bit muddled of late.” He turned his solemn, cold gaze on Crowley. “And he’s not the only one. Now… I’m going downstairs to deal with Gabriel. To deliver promised consequences for his behavior. And you can stay up here where you won’t have to witness that. Or you can come downstairs with me and argue and protest and attempt to convince me to relent until you’ve once again made the whole affair so much more painful and difficult than it has to be. But what you  _ can’t _ do is stop me, Crowley. I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale waved his hand, and all at once, Crowley felt the pressure holding him against the wall vanish, and he staggered forward a step. Aziraphale watched with quiet patience until Crowley caught his balance and looked up at him again, before speaking again softly. 

“But by all means, darling… feel free to try.” 

He didn’t wait for any further response before turning on his heel and heading for the door. Crowley stood watching helplessly with a sinking heart as Aziraphale snapped his fingers, dispelling the soundproofing miracle, and then disappeared down the stairs. 

Crowley did not follow.

He sank to his knees on the floor, gasping for breath, his limbs shaking with the exhaustion of his efforts to free himself, and the residual panic of being restrained. He covered his face with his hands, drawing in deep, shaky breaths as he struggled to process what had just happened - and froze, his stomach clenching painfully at the sound of a door closing downstairs. 

No bell - the faint hope that Aziraphale might have changed his mind and left the building, or better yet allowed  _ Gabriel _ to leave - quelled by the silence.

Crowley stifled his own breaths for a few moments, listening intently. The walls and floor were on the thin side; he’d heard troubling sounds coming from the backroom on numerous occasions. 

_ Back when you had the chance to do something… and you didn’t. Blocked your ears and shut it out…  _

_ Why bother listening now? _

Crowley heard the distant, muffled sound of Aziraphale’s voice - and then Gabriel’s, but only for an instant before it was abruptly silenced with a quick, sharp thud. 

He clenched his fists, fury rising up within him. He wanted to get up, to march down the stairs and slam open the door to the backroom and… 

_ And then what? Demand that Aziraphale stop? Just tried that.  _

_ Went smashingly, didn’t it?  _

Aziraphale’s maddeningly rational arguments played on repeat in Crowley’s mind. He couldn’t overpower him - and neither could Gabriel, even if he  _ did _ hear and accept and believe the truth. Did the truth of how this had all started even _ matter _ anymore… if Aziraphale was too powerful to be defeated  _ now _ ? 

_ You’ll only make things worse for Gabriel. It’s what you do.  _

Crowley stayed quiet, trying to listen for any further sound from downstairs, but everything seemed to have gone frustratingly silent. 

And… silence was worse. 

Silence did not mean that Gabriel was no longer being hurt or violated - only that Aziraphale was insisting that he bear it…  _ quietly _ . The silence only allowed Crowley’s imagination to fill in the empty space with all manner of nightmare scenarios. 

_ You could stop it.  _

Crowley knew deep down that it was true. Perhaps Aziraphale was strong enough now to take on an archangel - even one he  _ hadn’t _ weakened both physically and mentally through months of brutality.

But…  _ three _ archangels? Backed by the host of Heaven? 

Aziraphale wasn’t  _ that _ powerful. 

_ Not yet.  _

_ Who knows what he’s doing to gain that power? Or where it stops?  _

_ You could stop it.  _

_ But he’s right about you, isn’t he? Haven’t got the stones to do what it’d take - to march into Heaven and tell Michael everything.  _

_ No, that would mean actually  _ paying for what you’ve done _ , wouldn’t it? _

Crowley was no one’s savior. He wasn’t brave. He wasn’t selfless. 

He was a  _ bloody demon _ , for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be any of those things. 

_ You’re no hero. Nothing but a craven serpent who’s really,  _ really  _ good at  _ running  _ from consequences.  _

_ No good at all at  _ facing _ them. _

Crowley rose to his feet, trying to shut out the silence. He paced the apartment, trying in vain to distract his mind from whatever he was  _ not hearing  _ from the backroom. 

_ Could always leave. Go to Anathema’s.  _

Maybe Crowley  _ wasn’t _ brave enough to face an archangel and confess the worst things he’d ever done, and that he’d done them to her  _ fucking baby brother _ . 

But... he could perhaps summon  _ just enough _ courage to confess to his best friend. 

_ We could work out a plan, while Aziraphale’s… distracted. Not exactly helping Gabriel, wandering around  _ here _ useless as fuck all, are you?  _

Crowley could leave. He could share everything with Anathema and have her help him work out a way to power down Aziraphale.

He could _ … not _ have to listen to the silence anymore. 

_ Come back for the archangel, once we’ve worked it out… wouldn’t be leaving him for good… _

But the image of Gabriel’s face filled Crowley’s mind - violet eyes so honest and expressive, his desperation and vulnerability laid bare when he’d looked to Crowley for help and protection… when he’d told Crowley that he _ trusted _ him. 

Crowley couldn’t bear the idea of just leaving him here to Aziraphale, even temporarily - Aziraphale’s rage at Crowley’s flight unleashed upon his helpless captive, without Crowley’s presence there to even slightly temper it. 

_ And then there’s Anathema’s safety to consider.  _

_ When he realizes you’ve gone… he’ll know right where to look.  _

If Anathema understood just how great a danger Aziraphale presented, perhaps she would leave with Crowley - go somewhere…  _ away _ , where they could work and plan and Aziraphale couldn’t find them. But Crowley couldn’t ask her to just uproot her entire life indefinitely to help him fix the mess he’d made. 

_ And… if Anathema knew the truth, she might not help you at all.  _

_ She might just slam the door in your face. After turning you into something truly nasty, like a blobfish, or a naked mole-rat.  _

_ Or a  _ duck. 

Crowley shivered. 

No. For her own good,  _ and _ for his - Anathema’s involvement had to be kept to a minimum. 

Or at least… at a distance. 

He couldn’t risk Aziraphale’s following him to Anathema’s house. 

A phone call would have to be sufficient. 

It had been quite some time since they’d last spoken - and Anathema had a  _ lot  _ of questions. Crowley offered what vague answers he felt that he safely could, but eventually managed to redirect her attention to the reason for his call. 

“I need your help, love.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” Anathema let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh - but when she spoke again, her voice was soft with concern. “What can I do?” 

Crowley… wasn’t really sure. 

He only knew that he had as many questions as she did, at this point - and he wouldn’t be able to find the answers to the mystery behind Aziraphale’s unexplained power under the angel’s watchful eye.

“And he’s going to be watching me more closely than ever, now,” he admitted with grim resignation. “Now that he knows that I know, he’ll be even more careful about covering his tracks.” 

Anathema’s silence was long and weighted. “This fucking sucks, Crowley.” 

“I know.” 

“You should just leave and come here…”

“Can’t, yet, love. Sorry.”

The helpless, tearful frustration in Anathema’s voice tore at Crowley’s heart. “How am I supposed to help you if you won’t…” 

“You  _ are _ helping me,” Crowley insisted. “Figure this out. Research. Be Book Girl. Yeah? That’s how you help me.” 

“Fine. Okay. Okay, yeah.” Crowley could  _ hear _ her collecting herself, reining in her emotions and processing the beginnings of a plan. “So here’s what I need from  _ you _ …”

Crowley listened carefully, and they quietly finalized what plans they could make at a distance, before he hung up the phone and left the bedroom. Nearly thirty minutes had passed when he returned to the dinner table and took in what was left of the spread with a heavy, tired sigh. 

He picked up the chopsticks Aziraphale had used, turning them over in his hand and examining them. 

Disposable. Wouldn’t be missed. 

And yet - clearly  _ Aziraphale’s _ , and no one else’s. 

Crowley tucked them into his pocket as he surveyed the remaining food for a moment - and then returned the table to clean, stark perfection with a snap of his fingers. 

_ Not leaving any leftovers lying about for Aziraphale to play with - now that he’s thoroughly traumatized the archangel when it comes to food.  _

_ Congratulations, Crowley.  _

_ Another weapon you’ve provided for his arsenal of torment.  _

Eliminating the food was a meaningless gesture, Crowley knew. Aziraphale could easily obtain more, or even create his own miracled, fake food with which to torture Gabriel if he so chose. 

_ Just like he did with the kettle.  _

Crowley sighed as he reached to set Aziraphale’s overturned chair upright - and then froze, his heart seizing in his chest. 

The kettle was  _ gone _ ... along with the stool on which Gabriel had left it. 

Crowley glanced across to the living room, to Gabriel’s spot, where the stool was usually kept. It wasn’t there, either. 

Crowley’s mind filled with the memory of Gabriel struggling on his knees, reduced to pleading tears and desperately fighting to escape Aziraphale’s grip despite the certainty of  _ consequences _ for such behavior.

Inexplicably bloody  _ terrified _ of that thing.

Crowley headed for the stairs at a furious, determined pace. 

He had no idea what Aziraphale had done with the stool, or what he intended to do with it now - only that he  _ could not _ allow it to happen. 

_ Yeah. And just how are you going to stop it?  _

He froze at the top of the stairs, closing his eyes, wrestling with his protective fury and frustration. 

_ You  _ have _ to. You can’t just let him keep doing this.  _

Crowley reached for the door - then drew his hand back into a trembling fist, shaking his head. 

_ Every time you try to stop Aziraphale, try to help… it all goes wrong. And he’s  _ stronger _ , now.  _

_ Getting stronger all the time. _

_ You  _ can’t _ stop him. Not anymore. _

He swallowed hard, his eyes falling shut as he closed his hand around the doorknob.

_ But you can  _ be there.  _ To bear witness. If he’s going to do this, he doesn’t get to hide it. To pretend it’s not  _ exactly _ what it is.  _

_ Gabriel  _ will not _ bear this alone. Not anymore.  _

Crowley drew in a deep breath - then turned and abruptly reversed course, toward the bedroom. He drew a fine linen handkerchief from a dresser drawer and wrapped the chopsticks in it before stashing them in the back of the nightstand. 

He went back out into the living area, looking over the room and putting it to rights as best he could with a few quick miracles. The kitchen and dining room received the same treatment. 

_ Nothing left to be done… no reasons for Aziraphale to find, to keep him here.  _

_ No room for complaint… nothing to be blamed on Gabriel, and give Aziraphale another excuse to punish him… _

_ Not that he needs one.  _

Just minimizing damage - that was all Crowley could do. 

And he was clearly terrible, even at that. 

A plaintive, agonized scream drifted up to Crowley’s ears through the thin floorboards - a choked cry that was broken off with the sound of a breath-stealing impact. As if Aziraphale had stopped the sound with his fist or his foot. 

All that remained in the wake of the sound was muffled, despairing sobs. 

Crowley reached to pat his back pocket - double-checking for the glasses, pressing them in more firmly. He’d taken to doing so frequently, just to be sure, just because it made him feel better - though he wasn’t sure anymore if it should. 

Was Aziraphale more powerful than Anathema’s magic by now? 

Would Crowley even know if he was? 

Crowley took the ordinary pair of sunglasses from his face and shoved them into his breast pocket. 

He had every intention of looking Aziraphale in the eye when he reached the backroom - of forcing him to see his fury, his disgust. For all the good it would do, for all that it may have still been worth to the angel, Crowley was going to  _ face _ Aziraphale - and in so doing, he hoped, force Aziraphale to face the reality of what he was doing. 

Crowley made his way down the stairs at last with swift, purposeful steps. 

In the front of the shop, the sound from beyond the door was much clearer - a repeated, rhythmic impact too dull and too regular to be the fall of the whip or the cane. Punctuated with soft, muffled sobs, despairing and broken as the breath was repeatedly driven from the archangel’s body.

Crowley felt sick. He didn’t have to see beyond the door to know exactly what was happening. 

He gripped the handle and tried to open the door, but found it locked. Crowley snapped his fingers to unlock it - frustrated when nothing happened. His jaw set with determination, he tried again, closing his eyes and focusing his power - but still, the door wouldn’t budge. 

With rising fury, Crowley kicked at it - _ I’ll kick the damn thing down if I have to _ \- but it still didn’t give an inch. 

“Aziraphale!” he shouted through the door, pounding it with his fist. “Open this bloody door  _ right the fuck now _ !” 

Aziraphale ignored him. The only answer from the backroom was the continued, repeated impact - a sickeningly steady rhythm. 

“Angel, _ let me in _ !” Crowley roared, pounding on the door. “You can’t  _ do _ this, open the door!” 

Crowley stepped back and blasted the door, aiming the full force of his own power at the miracle Aziraphale was using to keep it shut. The door shook a bit, but still did not open. Crowley focused his efforts on simply transporting himself  _ past _ the door, into the backroom - but that didn’t work, either. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and tried again to force the door open - managing only to rattle it a bit more loudly this time. 

A low, breathless  _ laugh _ echoed through the door - words murmured too low for Crowley to make them out, in a taunting, suggestive tone - punctuated by Gabriel’s soft, broken sobs. 

Incensed,  _ outraged _ , Crowley slammed his shoulder into the door with all his physical strength. 

“Aziraphale,  _ now _ ! Open this door or I  _ swear _ I’m going to…”

The door fell open under the force of Crowley’s full weight, and he stumbled into the room, nearly falling to the floor. As he found his balance, Crowley froze - taking in the horrifying sight before him. 

The stool was there, as he’d expected, with the kettle set upon it, near the spot beneath the punishment bar where Gabriel often knelt.

The archangel was not kneeling there now. 

The relentless, dreadful rhythm continued - nearer and more horrifyingly clear than from beyond the closed backroom door - and Crowley’s eyes remained locked onto the cooling kettle for a few desperate moments. 

He didn’t want to see. 

_ This is your handiwork. The results of your willful ignorance. You’ve left no escape to  _ Gabriel _ , have you?  _

_ Why should you get to look away? _

With a heavy sense of fatal finality, Crowley dragged his gaze from the kettle and forced himself to meet Aziraphale’s gaze - anticipatory and  _ waiting  _ for his attention, locked onto him with bright, vindictive triumph, a sly, cruel smile twisting the angel’s lips. 

Aziraphale was standing behind the low, overstuffed armchair where he administered “lessons” in quiet  _ obedience _ and  _ submission _ \- his desperately dutiful pupil trapped between the principality and his throne, stifled gasps and choked back cries of pain driven from the archangel’s lips with every brutal, punishing thrust. 

Aziraphale’s cold eyes bored into Crowley’s with malicious satisfaction as he drove into Gabriel’s body with a measured, purposeful pace that had slowed significantly now that Crowley’s horrified audience had been won.

Gabriel’s shirt had been removed - and the reason for that was immediately, sickeningly clear. 

One of Aziraphale’s hands gripped the archangel’s arm hard for leverage, holding it twisted up tight behind his back - but the fingers of Aziraphale’s free hand played lightly over his mark on the archangel’s chest, tracing the lines of the W as he ruthlessly fucked him. 

Gabriel was still wearing the kilt, and nothing else - the thin, short scrap of fabric shoved up around his hips to expose him… to  _ humiliate _ him. 

Pale lavender eyes met Crowley’s, harrowed and weary - and then Gabriel’s face crumpled. He lowered his head, bringing his free arm up to cover his face. 

Crowley’s eyes burned with the shame that he knew was not Gabriel’s to carry, a tight ache in his chest, his fists clenched with the helpless need to  _ do something _ , to cross the room and try to  _ tear _ Aziraphale off of Gabriel, to shove him away from the archangel. 

But he would not let his rash protective fury - pathetically little, shamefully late - bring down any further suffering on Gabriel than his sickening inaction already had. 

And he would not let himself look away. 

Aziraphale’s hand left the mark to seize Gabriel’s hair, roughly, mercilessly jerking his head up and back. 

“ _ No _ ,” he snapped, breathless and demanding, his own fierce gaze locked onto Crowley as he bit off vicious, taunting words in Gabriel’s ear. “You could scarcely take your eyes off him before, could you? So look at him now.  _ Look at him _ .” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel sobbed, his shoulders quaking with despair. He obeyed, tears flowing freely from his eyes as he met Crowley’s gaze. His face was a bruised and battered mask of anguish and shame. He closed his eyes after just a moment, unable to bear it - but Aziraphale shook him hard by the hair in a silent warning, and he opened them again with a shuddering gasp. 

“Go ahead, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped out with a malicious smirk as he drove into Gabriel’s body again, and the archangel’s face contorted with pain. “ _ Do _ something.  _ Intervene _ .” 

Crowley didn’t move. 

He wasn’t sure how he could make this any worse for Gabriel than it already was - but he was determined that he  _ was not going to _ . 

“Look at him, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, breathless with exertion and cruel anticipation. “See how beautifully he suffers for you?” 

Crowley ignored Aziraphale’s horrifying, nonsensical words and stubbornly held his gaze. He told himself it was for Gabriel’s sake. Eye contact would only intensify the archangel’s humiliation. Mercy demanded that he not look any more closely than he already was. 

But it was  _ Crowley’s shame  _ that couldn’t bear it. 

Aziraphale immediately intensified his pace, rough and punishing, pounding Gabriel’s bruised stomach harder against the back of the chair. Gabriel let out a soft little sound of pained distress, which Aziraphale met with a harsh slap to the back of his head. 

“Shut up!” he snarled at Gabriel - eyes locked onto Crowley in cold, ruthless challenge. 

Crowley glared back at him through furious tears for a single moment - before surrendering and turning his focus on Gabriel - holding his gaze with solemn, wordless sorrow. 

Crowley wished that he could hold his  _ hand _ . 

The soft sounds of Aziraphale’s mounting pleasure - swift and shallow breath rising into a sharp cry of completion - left Crowley awash with cold, sick shame that he had ever loved this stranger, this  _ monster _ , with every facet of his being, every ounce of his will. 

Because the reality of the situation was agonizingly clear: Aziraphale _ was _ a monster - a beast in an arena with a helpless, disarmed captive caught in its jaws. And Crowley had become the most useless of spectators - slowly and gradually, but of his own free will. 

No.  _ “Spectator” _ was a term far too generous. 

He’d facilitated the entire spectacle, hadn’t he? He’d led Gabriel by the hand, through deceit and manipulation, to this fate worse than slaughter. 

And there was nothing he could do to change that now. 

Aziraphale stepped back away from the chair, jerking Gabriel along with him, stumbling and exhausted. He snapped his fingers to set his own clothing to rights, but left Gabriel as he was as he dragged him roughly across the room and hurled him to the floor at Crowley’s feet. 

“ _ Apologize _ ,” he commanded coldly. 

Gabriel buried his face in his bruised, trembling arms, weeping. “I’m sorry, sir,” he sobbed out in automatic obedience. 

“No, no, my dove,” Aziraphale snapped, stalking toward him and gripping his hair, jerking his head back up. 

Gabriel cringed as Aziraphale leaned in close, seizing his jaw in a tight, punishing grip and turning his face back up toward Crowley. 

“Apologize  _ to Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale demanded, dangerously soft, his lips near enough to brush Gabriel’s tear-stained cheek. “For being a worthless little slut. For repeatedly tempting me into this sort of behavior.” 

Gabriel nodded, his terrified, exhaustion-hazed eyes meeting Crowley’s. 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, lifting his hands toward his face in shame, until Aziraphale punished the half-formed gesture with a hard shake, and he lowered them to hover, trembling, just above his knees. “I - I’m a worthless slut. I - I tempted him, I’m sorry…” 

“That’s better,” Aziraphale crooned, soft fingers brushing the tears from Gabriel’s face. “Now tell him what else, my dove. Tell him of the latest in your long list of sins.” 

Gabriel’s expression grew taut and stricken, eyes wide with panic, a faint shake of his head the most he dared to plead, as Aziraphale whispered, invasively intimate, but precise and just loud enough for Crowley to clearly hear. 

“Tell him how it felt… when I touched you.” 

Crowley froze, horrified, as Gabriel nearly collapsed completely within Aziraphale’s grasp, softly weeping with shame. For all Gabriel’s suffering Crowley had witnessed and imagined, he’d never seen him this utterly wrecked - shattered to pieces before his eyes. 

“It f-felt good,” Gabriel whispered, cringing away from Crowley’s reaction to his confession. “I - I liked it…” 

His voice was hushed with horror and genuine shame, touched with shock - as if he could hardly understand it… but he  _ did believe  _ it. It wasn’t just an echo of words Aziraphale had forced him to say, as so many times before. It was clear from the haunted note in the archangel’s cracked and trembling words - he had accepted these words as truth. 

Crowley didn’t understand. 

Aziraphale released Gabriel with a rough shove and a sneer of disgust, fingers splayed as if he simply  _ couldn’t stand _ touching the debauched archangel a moment longer as he rose to his feet and backed off a few steps. 

And that was when Crowley saw it - the smeared mess that stained the  _ front _ of Gabriel’s kilt. 

A chill passed through him as he remembered the silence he’d heard from upstairs, and so easily given up trying to define - because he didn’t want to know what it meant. 

His worst imaginations hadn’t conceived of the vivid images that filled his mind now - Aziraphale’s hand, employing skillful touches he’d perfected with Crowley to expertly bring the innocent archangel to a confused and devastating completion. 

_ “See? You’re just what I’ve always said you are… a worthless little whore…”  _

Aziraphale’s cruel words in Gabriel’s ear - soft, taunting accusation as he’d deliberately wiped the mess on the kilt. He could have used a miracle, but  _ of course _ he’d rather it linger - the scent and the feel of it against Gabriel’s skin to shame him - to remind him of his own perceived complicity. 

_ “This is the evidence. Proof that you liked it. You’ve been just  _ begging  _ for it, all along, haven’t you, my sweet dove?”  _

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel sobbed. “Please, I’m so sorry…” 

Crowley crouched down carefully beside him, glaring up at Aziraphale. He’d thrown Gabriel to the ground at Crowley’s feet like some sort of twisted  _ gift _ \- roughly handled and shattered into pieces.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Crowley insisted softly, reaching out to gently touch Gabriel’s hand, gratified when Gabriel turned his hand palm up, trembling and damp with his tears, to gratefully clasp Crowley’s, lowering his face toward Crowley’s knees. “It’s not your fault, archangel…”

Crowley reached out his free hand to rest on Gabriel’s bare back - and went very still, his chest clenching tight with horror when he caught sight of the livid red marks seared into the archangel’s flesh. All at once Crowley realized - the kettle had been hot when Aziraphale moved it. 

It was only cool because it was  _ empty _ , now. 

He redirected his hand to the back of Gabriel’s neck, gently encouraging his head down into his lap so that he could better examine the damage - thin red lines, boiled into pale skin, in a matching pattern of arcs and angles on either side. 

In the shape of two large  _ wings _ . 

Crowley’s eyes blurred with tears, and he blinked them away, not hesitating to lower his hand to hover over the marks and heal them away in an instant, along with the bruises that littered the archangel’s bare skin. He cast his baleful gaze up toward Aziraphale, who watched without interfering - though the amusement in his eyes was swiftly fading into irritation. 

“You right  _ bastard _ ,” Crowley muttered, his voice trembling and tearful. “You’re  _ disgusting _ , what’s  _ wrong  _ with you?” 

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel sobbed, his words muffled against Crowley’s jeans. “I didn’t  _ want _ to like it, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry…”

“Oh, no, no, love, not you,” Crowley soothed him, immediately horrified at the misunderstanding, brushing fingers through his sweat-matted hair. “Not you, him. This isn’t your fault.” He glared up at Aziraphale. “ _ He _ did this. Not you. You’ve done  _ nothing _ to deserve this…”

Gabriel lifted his head then, and Crowley drew his gaze from Aziraphale’s face, focusing instead on the archangel’s anguished, pleading eyes. 

“I did,” Gabriel insisted, in a small, trembling voice, broken with shame. “I - I’m so sorry, I - I spoiled the supper you - w-worked so hard on. You - you tried to make it better, and I fucked it all up, I’m s-so sorry, Crowley…” 

Crowley looked up with alarm, over Gabriel’s shoulder, when he saw Aziraphale’s entire body tense with anger, his fist clenching at his side. The vindictive intent was clear in the angel’s eyes as he took a step forward, then shifted his weight to one leg. Crowley could see the vicious blow coming before Aziraphale aimed it - and he swiftly bowed his own body over Gabriel’s, wrapping his arm protectively around the archangel’s side where Aziraphale meant to kick him. 

With a sharp gasp of alarm and dismay, Aziraphale drew back the blow at the last moment, stumbling a step in his effort to keep from kicking Crowley. 

And in that instant… Crowley realized. 

There was still one thing he could do. Perhaps the  _ only _ thing left to him to do. 

“ _ Crowley _ !” Aziraphale protested, aghast. “Get away from him, I nearly kicked you!” 

“Why not?” Crowley croaked out through his own building tears. “It’s me you’re angry at, isn’t it? You think I’ve betrayed you? So… take it out on me, then.” 

Aziraphale stared at him in horror, the anger in his face having dissipated in an instant at Crowley’s suggestion. “I don’t want to hurt  _ you _ , Crowley!” 

“Don’t you?” Crowley looked up at him, tears flowing freely down his face. “It’s all you’ve been doing… over and over and in so many different ways.” 

It was far from truth. 

Aziraphale’s vicious focus had been almost entirely on Gabriel - the hurt he’d caused Crowley in the process, merely a careless byproduct. But Crowley was a master of misdirection, an expert in deflection - and intent on employing every skill at his disposal against this stranger he still knew better than any other being in existence. 

He could lead Aziraphale as easily as he’d led Gabriel. 

Crowley pressed a hand gently to the back of Gabriel’s neck, meeting his eyes for just a moment as he got to his feet - willing the archangel to understand his silent command. 

_ Stay low. Stay quiet.  _

_ Let me take this.  _

Gabriel bowed his body low over his knees, folding his hands across the back of his head - a small and trembling target.

_ Good, archangel… if I can just keep his eyes off you… if I can hold his attention again, for  _ just long enough... 

“You’ve restrained me, and manhandled me, and altered my mind against my will…”

Aziraphale frowned, lips parted as if to protest that last point. 

Crowley did not intend to be swayed from his course by mere technicalities. 

“What does it matter if you’ve never actually hit me - when you’ve shown me in a dozen different ways and countless times that nothing that matters to me, matters to  _ you _ anymore? That you’d willingly control me by any means necessary,  _ except _ for hitting me… if it means getting your way? And if you’ve tried everything else… and I’m still not your perfectly compliant little  _ demon pet _ … then how long is it going to be before you  _ do _ cross that line, angel? Before you beat me into submission like you’ve done him?” 

Aziraphale blinked, slowly shaking his head, his expression aghast. “You’re… you’re  _ not _ him, Crowley, I wouldn’t, I would  _ never _ …”

“I’d say you’ve done a  _ lot _ of things these past few months you’d have said you’d  _ never _ have done. I don’t want to watch you lose any more of yourself, Aziraphale,” Crowley declared, holding Aziraphale’s gaze as he very deliberately lowered himself to his knees facing the angel, holding up his hands, pleading, in front of him. “So - fine, then. I surrender. You won’t have to take what you want from me anymore - because I’ll  _ give _ it. You can have full control. I won’t argue. I won’t fight. I’ll give you… whatever you want. Just… let him go. Take those cuffs off him, and… and put them on  _ me _ , instead.” 

Behind him, Crowley heard Gabriel’s sharp gasp. “ _ No _ !” 

Aziraphale cast an accusing, tearful glare over Crowley’s shoulder toward the archangel - and Crowley swiftly caught Aziraphale’s hand, imploring, tugging his attention back onto himself. 

“He’s spent too much time in the cuffs recently. They’re draining him. He’s exhausted and starving and weak, and… he needs time to recuperate. More than a few hours, or a few days. Whatever this compulsion you’ve developed, angel, whatever it is… I know you think you need…” 

“I don’t need him.” 

Aziraphale’s words came out in a hoarse whisper - an automatic insistence, an echo of millenia-old resentments, though his voice was soft and faint. 

“Then  _ prove it _ ,” Crowley insisted. “Angel, prove that it doesn’t have to be him.” He was quiet, looking down at his own folded knees as if taking a moment to regain his composure before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes again, solemn and searching. “There was a time when I was enough for you. And… if there’s this…  _ darkness _ in you, you need to explore… you need to work out… I can still be enough for you, angel. Please, just… let him go, and… take  _ me _ in his place.” 

Aziraphale stared down at him, aghast. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Crowley,” he repeated. “I’ve never wanted that. I just want - for you to be mine as I am yours... for you to just love me and trust that I know what I’m doing, that I know what’s best when it comes to - to  _ him _ …”

Aziraphale glared past Crowley at Gabriel, taking a step toward him, clenched fist raised just slightly; and Crowley pulled him back by the hand he still held.

Turned his cheek toward Aziraphale in willing readiness to accept the blow. 

Aziraphale went very still, staring down at him, shaking his head in quiet dismay. Crowley felt a guarded sense of relief as Aziraphale’s shoulders fell with defeat, his head bowed in sorrow.

“All right, Crowley,” he said at last, soft and resigned. 

Crowley watched him warily, surprised at his rather swift acceptance. 

_ Might be a catch… another level to the game he’s playing. He’s pulled off enough temptations in my place, fooled Heaven as many times as I’ve deceived Hell. Could be he’s outwitted me and I just don’t know it yet.  _

_ But maybe… just  _ maybe  _ I’ve bought some time…  _

“But I’m not doing this to hurt you, my love,” Aziraphale continued, and Crowley willed himself to keep still and not flinch away when Aziraphale reached out a hand to tilt Crowley’s face up toward him. “I’m only going to do this to  _ prove _ to you that I  _ won’t _ . No matter how helpless you’ve chosen to make yourself to me - no matter how much trust you place in my hands - I would  _ never _ .” 

Crowley swallowed hard, choking down the sharp ache in his chest.

He could work with this. 

“You’ll take the cuffs off him,” he clarified, low and wary. “And not hurt him anymore, let him go…”

“Not forever,” Aziraphale warned. 

_ Of course not. _

Crowley nodded once, considering. “Six months.”

Aziraphale let out a soft, derisive huff, glaring past Crowley at Gabriel. “ _ One _ .” 

“Four,” Crowley countered, quiet and solemn, holding Aziraphale’s gaze. 

Aziraphale lifted a brow, but offered no other protest to Crowley’s blatant bartering. “Two,” he offered. 

Crowley gazed up at him, appearing thoughtful before conceding, “Done.”

A month was all he’d hoped for. 

Two months was more than enough time for Anathema to find the missing puzzle pieces he’d sent her after - to work out the answers to the newest and most challenging of the mysteries facing Crowley. 

At the end of two months’ time, Aziraphale would call Gabriel back to the bookshop. 

And as much as the idea horrified Crowley… as much as the sickening weight of guilt overwhelmed him at the thought… he knew that by that point Aziraphale would be  _ desperate _ to play with his favorite toy again. When he took the cuffs off Crowley and put them back on Gabriel, he would  _ completely forget _ about Crowley for a time. 

Gabriel would be stronger. Healed completely, at least physically. Better able to bear Aziraphale’s renewed torment… just for a short time. 

While Crowley met with Anathema, learned what she had discovered, and finalized their plan to stop Aziraphale once and for all. 

“Now let him go,” Crowley said firmly, holding up his wrists toward Aziraphale. “Put the cuffs on me instead.” 

“No,” Gabriel protested again, his voice shaking with panic as he crawled forward to kneel beside Crowley. “No, please don’t, sir, please, it’s  _ fine _ . It can be me, it  _ should _ be me, don’t…” 

Aziraphale caught Gabriel’s wrist and jerked him up higher on his knees, closer to him - and Gabriel tried to pull away, actually tried to _ resist _ the removal of the cuffs. 

It was all the confirmation Crowley needed that he was doing the right thing. 

_ It should  _ never _ have been you, archangel…  _

_ You never deserved a moment of this.  _

Furious, Aziraphale grabbed Gabriel’s hair with his free hand, twisting his wrist roughly. 

“Oh, you’re proving quite well that it should be,” he snarled. “ _ Stop fighting _ .” 

Gabriel went obediently still in his grasp, though he still shook his head, silently pleading. 

“You should be  _ on your face _ thanking Crowley for his mercy,” Aziraphale declared, his words low and trembling with restrained emotion, as he slowly eased his grip on Gabriel’s wrist, glancing toward Crowley. 

_ He’s very deliberately not hurting him now… just to show me that he doesn’t need to… _

But Crowley knew exactly how long such a resolve would last. 

The sooner Gabriel left, the better. 

He let his hands fall to his sides, the fingers of his left hand trailing lightly, soothingly, along Gabriel’s bare calf. When the archangel glanced at him, Crowley was shaking his head, slowly, almost imperceptibly, his gaze still focused on Aziraphale. 

_ Don’t fight this. Please, don’t give him a reason to keep you here.  _

_ Go home, archangel. Let me do this  _ one thing right _ for you…  _

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel whispered, going still and pliant in Aziraphale’s grasp. “I - I’m sorry, sir, I just… he’s been kind to me. I - please don’t hurt him…”

Aziraphale laughed coldly, running a hand through Gabriel’s hair, falsely tender. 

“Don’t worry, my dove, I could  _ never  _ hurt Crowley,” he murmured, leaning in close to whisper against Gabriel’s ear. “I’ll save every last bit of _ that... _ for  _ you _ …” 

Gabriel shivered, but nodded, his head bowed in acceptance. 

Aziraphale smiled and released him. With a snap of his fingers, the hellfire cuffs fell from Gabriel’s wrists to the floor. 

“Thank you, sir…” 

Gabriel hesitated there on his knees, one arm wrapped around his bare torso, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He looked to Crowley, and Crowley could  _ feel _ the intensity of his gaze, didn’t  _ dare  _ look at the archangel and jeopardize this victory by allowing Aziraphale to see what might pass between them. 

“Thank you,” Gabriel repeated in a hoarse whisper, softer and touched with tender, awestruck gratitude that made it clear - he was no longer speaking to Aziraphale. 

“Get out,” Aziraphale snapped at him coldly, the full focus of his attention on Crowley as he crouched down to face him. 

Gabriel got to his feet on unsteady legs, taking a few backward steps before halting in the doorway, watching them with dismayed uncertainty. 

_ Now, archangel, go… _

“ _ Now _ !” Aziraphale snarled at Gabriel, eyes blazing with menace, but glittering with tears. 

To Crowley’s relief, Gabriel obeyed at last. 

And then, he was alone with Aziraphale, and a set of blessed hellfire cuffs that would restrain him as surely as any archangel… and a promise he didn’t dare trust. 

Aziraphale stared down at the cuffs lying on the floor beside them, before looking up into Crowley’s eyes with sorrowful resignation. 

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered. “That you think this is a thing you have to do. I’ve hurt you, I know that now… without even realizing it…”

_ I told you. Again and again, I told you, and begged you to stop…  _

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale continued, soft and earnest. “But… I know that’s not enough. I know you’ll never be able to forgive me. I know… things will never again be as they were.”

He picked up the cuffs in one hand, smoothing Crowley’s shirt sleeves down over his wrists to avoid contact with his skin as he locked the cuffs carefully around his wrists. Crowley drew in a sharp breath, his heart rate accelerating as Aziraphale drew Crowley’s bound hands down, clasping them gently in his own, as he leaned in to kiss his forehead. 

Crowley couldn’t help flinching, his heart hammering in his chest with the impending panic of his own helplessness. 

_ What have you done, you bloody fool?  _

_ Worse yet… what is  _ he  _ going to do? _

Aziraphale drew back to meet Crowley’s eyes with a warm, sorrowful expression in his own. 

“You’re afraid of me,” he stated softly, and Crowley couldn’t begin to muster a convincing denial. “I’ve - I’ve broken us, Crowley. Seemingly beyond repair, but… there  _ is _ still a way. And… I hope you’ll forgive me for taking it.” 

Crowley frowned, trying to make sense of Aziraphale’s words through his own mounting apprehension. 

“H-how?” he whispered, breathless and fearful. “Angel, what… what are you going to…?” 

“You’ve asked me not to, Crowley, I know,” Aziraphale admitted with a rueful grimace. “But… for all the power I’ve gained, there’s no other way to undo the damage I’ve done, and... no other way to bring back the love you’ve lost for me. There’s only one way I can think of to fix this. To make it all just…  _ go away _ ...” 

Crowley’s eyes widened, his heart lurching as he realized at last what Aziraphale was suggesting. Too frozen with shock and alarm to react, he didn’t flinch when Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him again - a soft brush of his firm lips against Crowley’s slack, startled mouth, before he drew back to press his brow against Crowley’s, his words a hushed whisper of relief. 

“... as if it never happened.”


	34. Chapter 34

If Gabriel had been asked to name his least favorite place in the entirety of the Universe, without question that place would have been Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

Specifically, the backroom of Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

Countless times Gabriel had forced himself to walk through that doorway toward his own destruction. Countless times he’d been trapped there in merciless suffering, desperately hoping for the minutes to pass faster, silently pleading through the mind-numbing agony for Aziraphale to finally say that they were  _ finished _ . 

For now. 

In those endless hours of torment, every last shred of desperate hope Gabriel still possessed narrowed to a single, pin-point focus - the blessed, longed-for moment when he would be allowed to _ leave _ . 

“ _ Get out! _ ” Aziraphale snarled at him. 

And Gabriel  _ did not _ want to go. 

Not with Crowley on his knees at Aziraphale’s mercy, locked into the cuffs that had already scarred his hands once, at a time when the blessing on them had been far less powerful. Not with Aziraphale so unhinged in his jealous fury that he had fucking  _ agreed _ to let Crowley take Gabriel’s place. 

Aziraphale still insisted that he  _ loved _ Crowley. Crowley was  _ everything  _ to him. Crowley might be a demon, but he was better than Gabriel in every conceivable way. Gabriel  _ deserved  _ to be punished, deserved to suffer - but  _ Crowley _ …

Crowley was good, and kind, with a tender heart that made him better than most angels Gabriel knew. 

And that was the  _ only _ reason why Aziraphale would ever want to hurt him. 

_ Because he knows. He knows Crowley’s trying to help me. To - to  _ stop him _.  _

Gabriel took one last look at the kneeling demon, whose sharp golden gaze was locked onto Gabriel’s and wordlessly urging him to _ go _ \- while Gabriel still had the opportunity, before Aziraphale changed his mind. 

_ He won’t. Not until he’s sure you won’t oppose him.  _

With a sinking certainty in his heart, Gabriel obeyed, because Crowley wanted him to, and because he did not want to make things any worse for Crowley than they already were, and because  _ what else could he do _ but  _ obey Aziraphale? _

_ Just do what he says, Crowley. Please, just… let him have what he wants: you, on his side again. Stop trying to help me.  _

_ I’m not worth it.  _

Aziraphale had demanded answers from Gabriel the moment he’d entered the backroom, and Gabriel had tried  _ so hard _ to convince Aziraphale that he was wrong in his suspicions. 

Crowley wasn’t hiding anything.

Crowley still loved Aziraphale more than any other being in the universe.

Crowley  _ had not _ betrayed Aziraphale. 

Despite his terror, despite the powerful compulsion to obedience, to  _ confession _ , that Aziraphale had ruthlessly drilled into him - Gabriel had managed for once in his miserable existence to  _ keep his mouth shut _ . 

And still, Crowley had ended up in the hellfire cuffs - at Aziraphale’s mercy. 

The bookshop door closed behind Gabriel, and he found himself abruptly surrounded by the bustling sounds of the busy street beyond it. But he scarcely heard the noise, his mind consumed with a single certainty. 

_ This is all wrong.  _

_ Crowley doesn’t deserve this. He’s only tried to help you - to protect you.  _

_ You can’t just leave him alone like this. Get back in there.  _

He faced the door, staring at it, one hand faltering toward it - then drawn back into a clenched, trembling fist. 

_ And… do what, exactly?  _

Gabriel knew he couldn’t fight Aziraphale. Aziraphale was stronger than him. Aziraphale would easily overcome him - and all Gabriel would have accomplished would have been to make him angrier. 

Of course, if his anger was redirected _onto_ _Gabriel_... then Crowley might be spared some suffering. 

For a little while. 

_ Crowley will still get hurt - maybe worse.  _

_ You’ll only make things worse.  _

Gabriel turned away from the door, taking a few steps down the sidewalk - then turning back again. He paced back and forth outside the bookshop that no one else on the street seemed to notice, weighing his meager options. 

He could go back to Heaven. 

_ No. Bad idea. No way you’ll be able to pull off the whole calm, collected bastion-of-confidence act right now. They’ll see it all over you - the panic. The desperation.  _

_ Michael will see it, for sure.  _

Gabriel stopped again, his back to the door, his eyes cast across the distance in the general direction of Heaven’s entrance. 

_ Maybe… maybe that’s not such a terrible thing… _

Crowley’s words echoed in his mind.

_ You don’t think Michael could hold her own against him?  _

Crowley’s tone had been… curious. Speculative. As if he wasn’t quite certain of the answer himself. 

Which - didn’t make sense. 

Crowley knew better than anyone the tremendous power Aziraphale held. More powerful than any other angel or demon -  _ including Crowley _ . Immune to Hellfire, physically capable of overpowering an archangel. It didn’t make sense that Crowley would question the certainty of Aziraphale’s power. 

But then, it didn’t make sense that Crowley would  _ threaten _ to bring Aziraphale down, to his face - with his plan to do so, whatever the fuck it was... still incomplete. 

_ Bring it all crashing down, burn it to the ground. See if I don’t…  _

Gabriel shook his head, bewildered, trying to make sense of it. Why would Crowley risk tipping his hand by revealing to Aziraphale that he was planning  _ anything at all _ ? 

Crowley was clever. He was sharp-witted and perceptive and knew a lot about a lot of things that Gabriel knew  _ nothing _ about. 

Except when it came to Aziraphale, Gabriel had begun to understand. 

When it came to Aziraphale - Crowley could be maddeningly stupid.

_ Just because your limited intellect doesn’t understand doesn’t make it stupid. _

Aziraphale’s scathing words echoed in Gabriel’s mind, and he shivered, feeling a rush of irrational fear at his disrespectful thoughts about Crowley, and how he knew Aziraphale would have reacted to hearing such things.

_ If you don’t understand the actions of your betters… those wiser and more experienced than you… then perhaps it isn’t them, but  _ you  _ who’s stupid. Now doesn’t that make more sense?  _

Letting out a shaky huff of frustrated breath, Gabriel stood still in the street, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and struggling to focus. 

_ So many things _ didn’t seem to make sense. 

_ Crowley knows things you don’t. And… he questioned whether or not Michael could take on Aziraphale.  _

_ Maybe she can. Maybe… with the whole host of Heaven at her back…  _

But how many of their brothers and sisters would fall in the battle? How many angels would Aziraphale destroy before he himself was destroyed - if such a thing was even  _ possible? _

What if Michael was burned alive in Hellfire… just for trying to save him? 

_ If she’d even come at all - to help Crowley. A demon.  _

_ But… he’s not evil. Not really. He’s tried so hard to help me, to protect me.  _

_ He’s… my friend.  _

Gabriel let out a heavy sigh, lowering his hands and shaking his head in defeat.

_ That’s something that Michael would never understand.  _

Gabriel blinked into the fading evening light, his vision coming back into focus - and he realized that several of the humans who passed were - _ looking  _ at him. Strangely. They eyed him warily, looking him up and down with clear alarm and open disapproval. 

He tried glaring at a few of them.

That seemed to work. They quickly averted their gaze and hurried their pace along the sidewalk. 

One woman even crossed the street to walk on the other side. 

_ Stupid humans. What are they staring at? _

Grumbling, rolling his eyes, Gabriel turned back toward the bookshop - and stopped short when he got a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass. He looked down at himself in dismay, his face flushing hot with embarrassment. 

_ Of course _ the humans were staring at the pacing, half-crazed madman - rubbing his face and muttering to himself - dressed only in a short, filthy kilt and nothing else. Gabriel absently ran his hands down the front of the kilt, smoothing it down to its full, inadequate length - and then shuddered at the feeling of the stiff, sticky fabric against his thighs. 

He swallowed down the sick feeling in the back of his throat, closing his eyes, suddenly feeling even more exposed than the paltry scrap of clothing ordinarily made him feel. 

_ They’re not stupid. It’s you. _

_ It’s always you.  _

_ When are you going to get that through your head?  _

Gabriel snapped his fingers to hide himself from their view. 

Immediately the world seemed to shift, his balance wavering, and he reached out a hand to brace himself against the brick of the bookshop wall, blinking and drawing in a deep, shaky breath. 

_ Whoa. More energy expended there than I thought… _

It was a fairly complex miracle, obscuring himself from the eyes of dozens of humans as they passed. But… Gabriel could remember a time not so long ago when such a miracle would have been nothing more than an afterthought to him. 

_ The cuffs. They’re making me weaker. It’s why Crowley wanted them off.  _

_ Might take a little while to recover, apparently.  _

Gabriel waited until he felt a little steadier, until he’d caught his breath - to snap his fingers again. Immediately the dirty, ragged kilt was exchanged for the purple shirt and jeans he’d first worn to please Aziraphale. 

Immediately Gabriel questioned his choice. 

Was this what Aziraphale would want him to wear? Surely he didn’t  _ want _ Gabriel out on the street barely dressed, making a spectacle of himself. 

_ He didn’t want you out here at all,  _ Gabriel reminded himself, a heavy, dark pit in his stomach. 

_ He wasn’t even  _ close _ to finished with you.  _

Gabriel tried not to think too hard about Crowley, and what he was possibly enduring on Gabriel’s behalf. He tried to focus on the dilemma at hand - a decision left in his hands after months of having one lesson repeatedly, ruthlessly reinforced: 

_ You don’t get to decide.  _

But Aziraphale wasn’t  _ there _ to decide. 

Gabriel had to do the best he could with what he knew - and he knew that Aziraphale wouldn’t want him half-naked in the street, drawing undue attention to Aziraphale’s private little corner of the planet. Aziraphale wouldn’t want him in the sort of suits he was allowed only for the sake of appearances in Heaven, either. 

The tiny flame emblem on the purple shirt was the nearest Gabriel was going to get right now to Aziraphale’s seal of approval. This outfit was the best choice Gabriel could make, given the circumstances. He drew in a breath, nodding once firmly, before waving his hand to release the obscuring miracle and allow the humans to see him. 

He let out a deep sigh of relief.

_ That was… way more exhausting than it should have been.  _

Gabriel took a moment to regain his bearings and catch his breath, glancing around at the passing humans. None of them seemed to be paying him any attention anymore. He turned back toward the bookshop door, glancing uncertainly out toward the street. 

_ Now what?  _

_ “Don’t go far,” _ Aziraphale had said.  _ “This won’t take long.” _

_ What won’t take long? What is he doing to Crowley? _

As much as Gabriel wanted to find out, and to do something about it - he knew better than to reenter the bookshop without being called. He wasn’t strong enough to help Crowley; he’d only make things worse by trying. 

He glanced down at the watch on his wrist, counting down time once more from the moment Aziraphale had sent him away - counting down from 60 days, with barely five minutes already spent in pacing, worried, outside the bookshop door. 

_ 59:23:54.  _

Gabriel scoffed softly, his mouth forming a grim smile. 

No way in  _ fucking anywhere _ he was actually going to get  _ two full months _ . 

He looked at the door again, then shifted toward the window, peering through the drawn blinds for some sort of glimpse of what might be going on beyond them. 

Gabriel didn’t  _ want _ two months. Not at Crowley’s expense. 

_ You can’t just stand here staring through the windows. Aziraphale won’t like it if you draw attention again. And if he catches you here like this… Aziraphale will think you’re eavesdropping.  _

_ Spying. _

_ You know. Because you are.  _

Spurred to motion by his unsettling thoughts, Gabriel found himself walking, with no clear idea as to where he was going, his body on auto-pilot, his thoughts consumed with what had happened, and was still happening, and would happen when he returned.

He’d been walking aimlessly for a while when the watch suddenly lit up. 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched as he stared at it. The countdown clock had abruptly changed. 

Instantaneously, two months had become ten minutes. 

Gabriel immediately turned back toward the bookshop, wondering how far he’d walked. He could teleport back. He’d done it dozens of times before, with mere seconds to spare, transporting himself from just outside the elevator to Aziraphale’s door. Despite his weariness and weakness, it was a simple miracle, one Gabriel had performed many times while in the throes of unbearable agony. He could do it again now, if he had to. 

He checked the watch again - and stopped in his tracks, staring down at it. 

The clock had frozen at 00:09:42. It was still brightly lit around the edges of its face, but the countdown was no longer moving. He could feel the slight warning warmth indicating that he had only a few minutes - but it didn’t seem to be getting any warmer while he stood there, staring at it in confusion. 

The watch had never done this before. 

Gabriel felt a deep sense of unease and uncertainty, his guts twisted in knots - and then inexplicably… 

_ Calm.  _

The message was clear enough. 

Gabriel was on stand-by. In a holding pattern, waiting to be called. 

_ “Don’t go far,” _ Aziraphale had said - and Gabriel was a mere miracle away. 

Whatever Aziraphale was doing to Crowley - he was nearly finished. Gabriel wouldn’t have to worry much longer. Soon enough, the focus of Aziraphale’s wrath would be on him again. 

_ As it should be.  _

Gabriel glanced around at his surroundings and came to a decision. He would find a quiet, comfortable spot to sit and wait for the numbers on the watch to begin moving again. Because they  _ would _ , inevitably, start moving again, counting down to his impending punishment. 

And the moment they did, Gabriel would miracle himself back to the bookshop. 

But...  _ until _ they did... for just a little while… he would linger in this familiar, comforting place, for just a few precious, private minutes  _ without  _ Heaven's ever-watching eyes or Aziraphale's oppressive presence.

The familiarity of torment would claim him again soon enough.

Aziraphale’s terrifying promise echoed in his thoughts - a viciously whispered assurance that he had no intention of harming Crowley. He was going to save all the suffering for Gabriel. 

_ Because you’re the one who deserves it, _ he reminded himself.  _ Crowley didn’t do anything wrong.  _

He closed his eyes, and the words that played over and over in his mind felt almost like a prayer. 

_ Please… he doesn’t deserve this.  _

_ Please, keep that promise… and don’t hurt him… _

*******************************************************************************************

_ Idiot. Should have seen this coming.  _

To be fair - Crowley  _ had  _ seen it coming. He’d made preparations for it. He’d kept Anathema’s magical protection sunglasses on him at all times from the moment she’d given them to him. 

But in the weeks that had followed, Aziraphale had not made any attempt to alter Crowley’s thoughts or memories. He’d only attempted to make Crowley sleep - and then, only with Crowley’s permission. Aziraphale had promised Crowley that he wouldn’t muck about in his brain - and then he  _ hadn’t _ \- and Crowley had allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security - a foolish belief that Aziraphale wouldn’t ever actually cross that line. 

_ What’s it gonna take for you to learn? _

The sinking feeling in the pit of Crowley’s stomach matched the ache in his chest. 

_ There is no line he will not cross.  _

Crowley resisted the panicked, foolish impulse to reach for his pocket, to make sure the glasses were still there. They were, of course they were, he always kept them there - and reaching to touch them would only serve to draw Aziraphale’s attention to them. Once he knew they were there, he would inevitably take them. Even if Crowley _ hadn’t  _ been down on his knees and bound by the cuffs, in terms of physical strength, Aziraphale had him at a severe disadvantage. 

And now, as he’d made perfectly clear - his supernatural powers were far greater than Crowley’s as well. 

Would Anathema’s charm be enough to prevent him from doing what he intended? 

_ It is,  _ Crowley told himself. _ It’s enough.  _

_ Anathema is powerful, too. Teleportation is pretty high level magic for a human, and she pulled  _ that _ off, didn’t she? Aziraphale has no idea the charm even exists. He’s not looking for it, and he won’t be trying to counteract it.  _

_ It  _ will _ work. It will.  _

But even if it did, Crowley knew - he still had a  _ big problem _ . 

_ He wants to make it like it never happened… to make you forget. If he tries that, you’ll have to pretend that it worked - or he won’t rest until he figures out why it didn’t.  _

_ If he finds the glasses, takes them - it’s over.  _

_ You’ll have to fake it.  _

_ But… if you’re faking it… if he believes you don’t remember any of the things he’s done… there’s no reason for him to give Gabriel the two months he promised. He’ll make him come back… he’ll keep him in that backroom.  _

_ And you’ll have no choice but to pretend you don’t know he’s there.  _

_ Pretend you don’t know what Aziraphale’s doing to him - every single fucking day.  _

Crowley wasn’t sure he was a good enough actor to pull that off. 

_ Right. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Hopefully you won’t have to.  _

_ Plan A.  _

_ Convince him not to do it.  _

“You promised,” Crowley reminded Aziraphale, making no effort to disguise the note of betrayal, the tremor of fear in his words as Aziraphale carefully knelt down facing him. “You promised you would never do this to me…”

Aziraphale winced. 

_ Score one for the serpent. Answer  _ that, _ angel, if you can.  _

“I know, my love,” Aziraphale said softly, regretfully. “But… circumstances have changed…”

“Yeah,  _ you changed  _ them!” Crowley accused. “You did this to us!”

“I know that, darling!” Aziraphale insisted, breathless and flustered with frustration. “I’m only trying to undo it…”

Crowley wasn’t sure if it was the best of tactics or not, but he couldn’t suppress the bitter laugh that escaped his lips at those words. He rolled his eyes Heavenward, the mirthless smile on his lips fading as he sadly shook his head, his voice thick with emotion he wished he could better conceal. 

“Not so easy, angel.” 

Aziraphale’s expression was sorrowful, almost  _ pitying _ … and nothing short of infuriating. 

“But it is,” he insisted gently. “You won’t remember any of the bad things… the things which have hurt you so much over the past few months. I can take every last one of those painful memories and I can just…  _ unmake _ them...” Aziraphale reached a hand toward Crowley’s head, his expression wistful and longing. 

A rush of anger, an instinct toward self-defense, drove Crowley to forget his purpose for a moment and jerk his head away, automatically lifting a hand toward his own face to block the unwelcome touch. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened with alarm, and he reached out and caught Crowley’s arm, just above the wrist. Crowley struggled to dislodge his grip, reaching up with his free hand to shove Aziraphale away - and only succeeding in giving Aziraphale the chance to grasp his other wrist, too, restraining him firmly. 

“Crowley, stop it,” Aziraphale said, in a voice carefully calm, but edged with fear. “The blessing…”

“ _ You _ stop it!” Crowley snarled at him, yanking uselessly against the angel’s strong, unyielding grasp. “Let go…”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Crowley…”

“Then  _ let go of me _ !” 

His desperate efforts became more flailing and frantic, made even more ineffectual by the panic bubbling up in Crowley’s chest, the sinking feeling in his stomach as he struggled to free himself, to get up and get away - but found himself desperately outmatched by the angel’s unnatural strength. Aziraphale easily held Crowley’s wrists, pulling Crowley’s arms around him on either side and then firmly wrapping his own around Crowley in a stifling, restrictive embrace. 

With his arms pinned, his body pressed tight against Aziraphale’s, Crowley couldn’t find the leverage he needed. His struggles only brought him frustratingly closer. 

All Crowley could feel was Aziraphale, his familiar softness pressed against his body - the familiar smell of dust and tea and old paper drawn into his lungs as he gasped and shuddered and tried to pull free. Suffocating on the scent, choking on tears and wondering when exactly he’d started crying - Crowley collapsed in exhaustion, in the despair of futility. 

“You say you don’t want to hurt me,” he said, the words a shaky, accusing sob. “But you’re gonna have to force me… you’re gonna have to hold me down to do this…”

He didn’t know why Aziraphale’s behavior still surprised him - why it still  _ hurt  _ so damn much, after all these months. 

_ You know who he is. You know what he’s capable of.  _

_ And you stayed. And you let him keep going farther and farther... _

_ You’ve had this coming for a long, long time.  _

Aziraphale held him tight in silence for a long moment, and Crowley could feel the heaving of the angel’s chest against him - couldn’t tell if it was from the effort of subduing him, or if Aziraphale was quietly crying, too. 

He wasn’t sure which evidence of lingering vulnerability to hope for - which trace of something soft and  _ touchable _ still remaining would be more reassuring to find in this cold and callous stranger he’d once known like his own heart, his own flesh. 

At last Aziraphale broke the silence, his voice thick with tears, and heavy with sorrowful resignation. 

“I can hold you down without hurting you.” 

Crowley went very still, a cold shiver trickling down his spine. He could still feel the unseen pressure of Aziraphale’s power, holding him pressed against the wall, unable to move his own limbs, in the apartment upstairs. He remembered well the startled sense of panic and betrayal he’d felt when Aziraphale had used the same cuffs he wore now to chain him to their bed - months ago, before the blessing was anywhere near so dangerous.

Before Crowley knew how dangerous Aziraphale was. 

The sharp ache of loss in his chest drew fresh tears to Crowley’s eyes. 

Despairing, defeated, he buried his face against Aziraphale’s shoulder - a small act of defiance, smearing his teary, messy face against the clothing that Aziraphale had once maintained with such fastidious care. Much worse things than Crowley’s snot had stained it now, many times over, Crowley was sure. He wondered how many times the angel had miracled it clean, now.

“No,” he choked out, exhausted, desolate. “No, angel… you can’t.” 

“I don’t want to restrain you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, and he carefully loosened his arms around Crowley, backing off a little and fixing Crowley with a wary, questioning look. “I just - just want to -  _ fix _ us.” 

Crowley stayed where he was on his knees, glaring up at Aziraphale through his tears - but remaining still, giving the angel no reason to attempt to restrain him again. 

“This won’t fix anything,” he declared with quiet conviction. “You promised me. You said you’d never do this to me.” 

“Well, I don’t know what else you’d have me  _ do _ , Crowley!” Aziraphale burst out in tearful reproach, his blue eyes beseeching as they met Crowley’s. “You don’t _ love  _ me anymore!”

“That’s not true,” Crowley whispered. “I do love you.”

It might have been the truth. 

He was too impossibly exhausted and confused and deeply wounded to know anymore - but he knew it was what he needed to say if he stood any chance of talking Aziraphale out of this.

It didn’t exactly work. 

Aziraphale tilted his head, eyes narrowed in knowing suspicion. “Ah, but not  _ only _ me, Crowley. Not anymore.” 

Crowley stared at him, incredulous. “What are you talking about?” 

Aziraphale stared down at Crowley’s hands, reaching cautiously to take one - and Crowley allowed it, his wary gaze never leaving Aziraphale’s face. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Aziraphale said with the hushed, soft tone of a confession more than an accusation. “The way you _ touch _ him.”

Crowley’s heart sank. 

_ Should have been more careful. Should have been watching Aziraphale while he was watching me. _

Crowley weighed his options, and settled on honesty. 

“That’s not love, angel. It’s just - I can’t stand it. The way you treat him. He’s scared all the time. In pain all the time. It’s not love, it’s… compassion.” He lowered his gaze, swallowing hard, a faint flush warming his face, a sick sense memory settling in the pit of his stomach. “Was a time I was… in a similar place. Could have used some myself, that’s all. That’s all it is.” 

Aziraphale was quiet, and Crowley looked back up at him… unsettled by the glittering hardness in his icy eyes over his brittle, knowing smile. 

“Perhaps for you. Don’t pretend you have noticed how he watches your every move - waits to see what you’ll say before he obeys my command. Looks to you as if you’ve  _ hung the moon _ , Crowley.” 

_ No… just a few stars. And among them, a few desperate, secret wishes a demon’s got no right to hope for…  _

_ No wonder I’m watching them all come crashing down around me.  _

“And when I asked him what there was between you… what you were hiding,” Aziraphale continued, his words carefully measured, piercing eyes watching Crowley closely, “he was  _ silent _ . Can you _ imagine  _ it, Crowley?” He smiled, letting out a soft huff of bitter amusement, shaking his head. “As quiet as I’ve ever seen him.” His smile faded. “Now just what am I supposed to think he’s hiding?” 

Crowley thought quickly. 

He knew  _ exactly _ what Gabriel was hiding. 

And Aziraphale would not stop trying to find the answer… unless he believed he already had it. 

“He’s protecting  _ me _ ,” Crowley admitted, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes with flat resignation. “I - I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I - helped him a few times. With his chores.” Crowley shook his head at Aziraphale’s indignant gasp, hurrying to clarify, “He didn’t ask me. Begged me not to, in fact - but I insisted. And… you were happy, and he…” Crowley sighed, eyes downcast in resignation. “... he got to go a little longer without punishment.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly with understanding. “I asked if the two of you had any…  _ secrets _ . He wouldn’t answer.”

“I told him not to tell you,” Crowley went on, looking away briefly before glaring up at Aziraphale again over a bitter smile. “ _ ‘Wouldn’t want to get me into trouble, would you? _ ’ So he kept his mouth shut.” 

Crowley knew it was counter to his purposes, and he should have concealed his disgust, but he simply couldn’t. His smile faded as he reached the conclusion of the matter. 

“And for that, you punished him. Is that why you burned that…  _ obscene mockery _ into his back, angel? Was that for  _ protecting me _ ? For keeping his silence?” 

“No, no,” Aziraphale protested lightly, a cruel smile touching his lips. “I  _ fucked _ him for his silence. To force him to  _ break _ it - one way or another. The wings, that was simply…” He punctuated his words with a vague, dismissive wave of his hand. “...  _ aesthetics _ .” 

Crowley took a moment to force down the bile that rose in his throat, blinking in shock, before he found his voice. 

“Can you wipe my memory of the  _ last ten seconds _ , angel? Because that was revolting.”

Aziraphale’s smile faded into solemn sadness. “In a few minutes, you won’t remember it. You won’t remember any of the unpleasantry that’s passed between us. And everything will be as it should be again.” 

“And by ‘unpleasantry’, you mean… everything you’ve done,” Crowley countered, his words coming out low and hoarse. “How much? How much of my memory are you going to take? How are you planning to explain the big empty space that’s going to be left of the last  _ nine months _ , angel?” 

Aziraphale winced, looking away. “Well, I rather thought I’d… leave some new memories in that space. Better ones. Of course, I’d have the same memories in my mind as well…”

“As well as the  _ real  _ ones,” Crowley concluded slowly, horrified, shaking his head. “So that you can remember which  _ lies _ to tell.” He laughed, and was unnerved by the high, thin, panicked sound of it. “Convenient, that. You won’t have to be responsible for anything you’ve done.” 

Aziraphale was quiet, holding Crowley’s accusing gaze, calm and level. 

“Neither will you.”

Crowley flinched, the words like a slap that took his breath. 

There was a tiny, treacherous place in a dark corner of his mind - low and cowardly, the piece of Crowley that always drove him to  _ run _ , to  _ hide _ \- that couldn’t help contemplating what a  _ relief _ that might actually be. 

To not remember the destruction, the suffering he’d condoned and facilitated. 

_ Maybe the glasses won’t work… maybe you  _ will _ forget.  _

_ You’d still be just as guilty. And Gabriel would be more helpless than ever - more hopelessly doomed to endless suffering than the damnedest soul in Hell.  _

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, biting his lip.

He lifted his hand from where it covered Crowley’s, toward the demon’s face. 

Crowley cringed, lifting his hand just a little - but then remembering the cuffs and lowering it again. Braced for Aziraphale’s touch, but making no attempt to stop it. 

Aziraphale’s face fell, and his hand dropped without making contact. 

“That,” Aziraphale said flatly, mingled notes of sorrow and resentment in his words. “That look on your face just then, Crowley - that response to my touch. That’s why I have to do this.” His voice trembled with anguish. “You’re afraid of me now. And - I have to undo that, Crowley. To - take us back to a time when you weren’t.” 

Crowley was quiet, considering Aziraphale’s words and carefully weighing his own. 

“You can take away the memories,” he said at last, quiet and thoughtful. “But… it won’t fix the problem. You know better, angel.” He met Aziraphale’s eyes with a sad smile. “Feelings linger. You know that. Like the echo of love around a small town filled with folks who’ve spent their lives there. Like that creeping sensation at the back of your neck in a place where terrible things have happened that you weren’t even there for. Those feelings… they don’t go away.” 

Aziraphale frowned, troubled and pensive. 

“I’ll still be afraid of you, angel,” Crowley concluded, reaching out to take Aziraphale’s hand - to simultaneously soften the blow, and ensure that it hit its mark. “I just won’t understand why.” 

“Then… how am I supposed to get us  _ back _ ?” Aziraphale asked, hushed and desperate. 

There had been a time, once, when he could have. 

Crowley was certain there was no chance of that now. 

“Just… do what you agreed to do,” he advised softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “That’s a start, yeah? You say you don’t want to hurt me. Well -  _ don’t _ , then.” His tone was pleading and earnest. “Angel, just… keep the agreement we just made. Leave Gabriel alone a while… and don’t hurt me… and prove to me that I don’t need to be afraid.” 

He shrugged a little, keeping his tone casual despite his rising hopes. Aziraphale was very quiet, his gaze thoughtfully focused on their joined hands. Crowley suppressed the revulsion he felt, the certainty that he would never  _ actually want _ Aziraphale to touch him like this again. 

Perhaps he was actually getting through to Aziraphale… 

“It’ll take more than that, angel. It’ll take… time, and…”

“I can make you be…  _ not  _ afraid.” 

Crowley went still. 

The light in Aziraphale’s eyes, the soft certainty in his voice, were absolutely terrifying. 

“I don’t have to take your memories from you at all, darling!” Aziraphale rose to his feet, pacing away a few steps, exhilarated and excited by his newest, latest horrible plan. “I can just… change the way you feel about what’s happened. Take the fear and the pain, Crowley, and - turn them into something else. I can make you  _ happy _ again, Crowley! Give you _ peace _ ...”

“And give yourself a free pass in the process,” Crowley snapped, a panicked edge to the words. “How convenient for you…”

“It’s not about  _ removing _ the thing, it’s about  _ transforming _ it,” Aziraphale continued, still pacing. “Creating something better from something bad…”

“It wouldn’t be real, angel,” Crowley pleaded. “It would be a lie…”

Aziraphale ignored his protests, nodding slowly, thoughtfully. “I can do it, now. I’m more powerful than before. Perhaps to the level of creation - not from nothing of course, but still… I believe I can accomplish it…”

“Lovely,” Crowley snapped, hot, frightened tears prickling behind his eyes. “Now you can violate others on a physical  _ and _ a spiritual level. Just great.” 

Aziraphale didn’t address the accusation, didn’t give any indication that he’d even heard it - until all at once he waved his hand, and the cuffs tugged Crowley’s hands forward, just enough to lock themselves to the floor in front of Crowley’s knees. Alarmed, he tried to pull them free, but found his efforts to be useless. He couldn’t resist or retreat. 

He glared up at Aziraphale in hurt and resentment - jerking away when Aziraphale reached toward his head. Aziraphale’s expression softened, and he let out a weary sigh, even as he firmly grasped Crowley’s hair to hold him still. 

Crowley’s heart raced in his throat. He’d seen Aziraphale do the same thing to Gabriel on many occasions; his grip was unyielding, holding Crowley just where he wanted him - yet still much gentler than the sort of touch he typically employed with Gabriel. 

It didn’t matter. Crowley was every bit as helpless as Gabriel, every bit as subject to whatever twisted whim might occur to Aziraphale to carry out. 

Every bit as  _ fucked _ . 

Grim and wary, Crowley held Aziraphale’s gaze. 

“What are you going to change?” he asked. 

“As little as possible, Crowley,” Aziraphale promised, soft and sympathetic. “Only enough to make it possible for you to be happy with me.” He considered for a moment. “I’ll make it so that Gabriel’s… training, his service… don’t trouble you anymore.” 

“Right,” Crowley acknowledged with a hoarse, bitter laugh. “Unmaking the memories won’t work. So you’ll just unmake  _ me _ instead.” 

“ _ No _ , Crowley,  _ never _ !” Aziraphale insisted, aghast at Crowley’s words. 

“I would never be okay with what you’re doing to him!” Crowley declared, his voice rising, quaking with outrage. “Aziraphale, you know me - so you have to know that! I’ve never liked violence - never was my style, was it? You’ve always said I  _ care _ too much, for a demon. ‘S why I never got along down there. Yeah?” 

The admission stung even as he said it - Crowley had always rankled at being called good or nice or kind - but there was no room for pointless posturing here. 

“And you, angel,” Crowley persisted, fervent, imploring, straining against the bonds at his wrists, against his every instinct, to somehow get nearer to Aziraphale, to  _ reach _ him. “You’re the one that made me feel like that was okay - more than okay! It’s…  _ who I am _ . Why I’m not like them, why I don’t  _ belong _ there, I belong up here.  _ With you _ . I thought…” Crowley struggled over the words, his face flushed with the unbearable hot sting of exposure. “I thought… you loved that. About me.” 

The two of them, each alone among his own kind - finding a place with each other, united in their love for the Earth and for all the joys it held. 

It was a beautiful story by which Crowley had come to define himself. 

And it was nothing more than a beautiful lie. 

If the thing that Aziraphale was now had ever known love - he had forsaken it now. Consumed with other, darker obsessions, he’d lost interest in the things they’d once shared. His single focus had become swallowed up in vengeance and violence. 

He no longer saw his own reflection in Crowley’s eyes. 

Was  _ that _ why Crowley was no longer enough for him? 

“Just make me over in your own image, angel, is that what you want?” Crowley croaked out, tears streaking his face. “Take out the disagreeable parts of my personality, and just… make me more like you.” 

Aziraphale frowned, indignant lips parted to protest. 

“Just know that if you do that,” Crowley went on, “if you make me…  _ okay _ with the things you do to him… you said it before, angel. I won’t - I won’t be  _ me _ , anymore! I’ll be something else. You’ll have destroyed me, as surely as if I’d gone into that tub of holy water.” 

“ _ Really _ , Crowley!” Aziraphale gave him a sharp look of dismayed disapproval. “You’re being  _ very _ dramatic. It isn’t anything so sinister as all that, is it?” Swiftly, impulsively, he went to his knees facing Crowley again, reaching out with both hands to catch Crowley’s - trapped and unable to escape his gentle grasp. 

“I just want you to  _ love _ me again, Crowley. To - to  _ trust _ me.” 

He gazed into Crowley’s eyes, pleading and earnest - and then, his own lit up with terrifying inspiration. 

“That’s it! I won’t change anything that’s fundamental to who you are, Crowley, I’ll simply… restore something that was  _ already _ yours.”

Crowley’s eyes warily tracked Aziraphale’s hand as it rose to cup Crowley’s cheek. 

Crowley didn’t move. 

“Angel… what…?” 

“Take the tiny spark that remains… deep down, I  _ know _ it’s still there…” Aziraphale continued, distant and thoughtful, but fiery in his determination. “And I’ll stoke it back to life again. I’m not changing who you are, Crowley. I’m giving you back what’s been lost.” 

“Aziraphale…” 

_ It won’t work. Anathema’s charm is strong, it's protected me before. What he wants to do to me - it won’t work… _

“... angel,  _ don’t _ . If you love me…”

Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s face firmly on either side, and Crowley felt his breath leave him in a panicked rush as the angel’s crystal blue eyes locked onto his, ablaze with fierce, forceful intent that flooded his words - trembling, aching with desperate emotion. 

“ _ You love me _ .” 

Crowley wasn’t quite sure whether or not those words were still true -  _ before _ Aziraphale said them. 

The moment they left the angel’s lips - Crowley  _ felt _ it. 

A swift, sharp ache in his chest - something withered and damaged deep within him, blooming to life again in response to Aziraphale’s touch, swelling up to meet it, longing for renewed connection with his angel - and so much more. 

And immediately in the wake of that feeling - unspeakable anguish. Fresh, hot tears brimming in Crowley’s eyes, a leaden weight of hurt and betrayal in his heart. 

“Angel why?” he wept, leaning in toward Aziraphale, his hands straining against their bonds, desperate to pull Aziraphale in, to bridge the distance. “How could you do this to us?” Crowley sobbed. “ _ Why _ ?” 

Aziraphale’s only response was to kiss Crowley deeply - and Crowley eagerly, hungrily returned the kiss - even as his mind was racing with panicked thoughts, conflicting with the freshly born feelings that overwhelmed him. 

_ Aziraphale lied to you. He betrayed you. He’s done monstrous things.  _

_ He’s  _ doing this _ to you.  _

_ It’s not real. No, don’t let him do it… fight it, hold onto…  _

Crowley couldn’t quite remember what it was he needed to hold onto - or why he shouldn’t surrender to the powerful wave of emotions cresting over him, pulling him under. 

He  _ ached _ to  _ drown _ in them. 

_ No, you have to resist… have to fight…  _

_ You  _ shouldn’t  _ love him, you have to  _ stop  _ him…  _

_ He’s doing this to you. You’re feeling what he wants you to feel.  _

But even as he tried to cling to what he remembered, what he  _ knew _ , Crowley’s heart sank - because the love he felt for Aziraphale was far more powerful than his will to resist it.

_ He’s stronger.  _

Aziraphale drew back from the kiss to meet Crowley’s eyes, and all at once Crowley was deliriously drowning in them - sucked under and swirling down, down into the depths of Aziraphale’s gaze. He was still aware of what Aziraphale was doing - still capable of fighting the feelings, but fighting felt futile. 

And… he didn’t want to fight Aziraphale anymore. 

_ He’s going to win.  _

“I did it for us, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, his blue eyes locked onto Crowley’s in stern, fierce certainty. 

_ No, angel, don’t be angry… I love you so much, please don’t be angry with me…  _

“Everything I’ve done,” Aziraphale went on, tilting his head down to rest against Crowley’s. “I’ve done it for us. I know some of those things seem terrible, and it’s difficult to understand… and, no. You  _ don’t _ like it.” He drew back to tenderly kiss Crowley’s face, fingers trailing gently up through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley couldn’t help leaning into the touch, relishing it. “My sweet, gentle demon… you wouldn’t ever be able to like it. Even though you  _ do know _ … he  _ deserves _ it.” 

Aziraphale’s gaze darkened, quietly ominous and angry, and something within Crowley quaked in response. 

“You trust me,” Aziraphale declared. “You trust that I know how best to deal with Gabriel. I know his sins… what he deserves. Even when you don’t understand, don’t like it, disagree - still you trust me.” His words softened as he pushed Crowley’s hair back from his face, leaning in to kiss his temple.. “With your life,” he murmured. “With your love. You _ trust me _ .” 

Crowley felt the hurt, the sorrow, the confusion and fear all begin to fade. His thoughts felt foggy and unfocused, and he frowned, reaching out into the murky shadows for the ends of threads of thought that seemed to be unraveling in his grasp - lines of logic collapsing and disintegrating like the pieces to a dozen different puzzles poured out and scattered around him. 

And then all at once, the pieces came together with startling, perfect clarity to form an entirely different picture - a picture that wasn’t on  _ any _ of the boxes. 

“I trust you,” Crowley whispered, every trace of his perception coming into focus on  _ Aziraphale _ , and  _ only  _ Aziraphale - smiling up into his angel’s eyes through tears of sheer relief and unspeakable gratitude. “I understand now,” he said. “You’d never do anything to hurt me. You did it all for us.” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale gasped out, shoulders quaking with relief as he pulled Crowley in for another kiss, hands grasping at him just a little too hard, too desperate to draw him in. “ _ Yes _ , my love, that’s right…” 

Aziraphale’s fist clenched in Crowley’s hair, impatiently dragging him in for a fiercely possessive, breathtaking kiss, his other arm wrapping around Crowley’s waist and pulling him in sharply. 

The cuffs jerked sharply with the motion, the metal digging sharply into Crowley’s wrists. His scalp stung with Aziraphale’s pull on his hair. 

But Aziraphale would never hurt him. 

“You love me,” Aziraphale whispered, breathless and urgent. 

“I love you,” Crowley echoed, his voice cracking with a strange, dark desperation, his hands twisting against their restraints, pulling against the place where they were still locked to the floor - aching to embrace Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and all at once Crowley could move freely again - but Aziraphale caught his wrists swiftly before he could touch - holding them firmly, holding Crowley back and glaring into his eyes. 

Everything in Crowley shook to pieces at that look - his angel’s wrath. 

_ No, don’t be angry with me, love me, angel, I need you so much…  _

“ _ Not him _ ,” Aziraphale snapped, shaking Crowley slightly. “You do  _ not _ love him. Or want him. He means  _ nothing  _ to you.” 

It took Crowley a moment to remember who Aziraphale was talking about. 

“Gabriel?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed, his lips tightening with displeasure. 

“He means nothing to me,” Crowley pleaded, tears flowing from his eyes, as he emphatically shook his head. “Of course I don’t love him, angel, I only love you…”

“You  _ only _ … love  _ me _ ,” Aziraphale echoed, a fierce and possessive declaration. 

And just like that… Crowley’s world narrowed to a single pin-point focus. 

There was only Aziraphale. 

Nothing and no one else mattered. 


	35. Chapter 35

Gabriel knew what doves looked like. 

He was fairly certain he’d seen them at least in pictures  _ before _ Aziraphale began to point them out to him, in the various books he referenced for their lessons - but he’d never really paid much attention. He’d never really paid much attention to any sort of Earth creatures, assuming their existences too temporal, too fleeting to be of any real significance. 

By the time Aziraphale began to show him pictures of doves - artistic renderings from various periods throughout human history, and actual photographs - explaining in meticulous detail their symbolism, how they represented humility and submission, and above all  _ peaceful quietude… _

… Gabriel knew better than to  _ not _ pay attention. 

There were doves in the park. 

Gabriel had never noticed them before, in all the hours he’d spent running here - too focused on the path in front of him. So certain that it led to only one predetermined destination… so confident that it could take him only,  _ exactly _ where he needed to go. 

_ Maybe it did. _

Gabriel watched the birds as they milled about the patch of sidewalk in front of him, their aimless circuits occasionally leading them to some scrap of bread or an ill-fated insect. 

_ Maybe you were always on your way right here.  _

A soft breeze rustled through the trees, and Gabriel closed his eyes, listening to the sounds the birds made as they scavenged the grass and concrete, and to the quiet chatter of the humans enjoying the park. He relished the soft heat of the sunlight on his face, and the warm mid-summer air - remembered the way it had felt whipping past him as he’d run here - countless times in pointless circles, never slowing enough to really notice his surroundings. 

There was no point to running now. 

There was nowhere to run. 

Gabriel opened his eyes, blinking into the sun, before focusing his gaze once more on the watch. When the bright spots faded and his vision came back into focus, the timer still had not changed. 

There was nothing to do but wait. 

The doves were… interesting. 

They were… _ louder _ than Gabriel had expected. 

Perhaps no one had ever taught them how to behave properly. 

Gabriel shivered, his mind drifting on the current of that thought toward far more troubling places. Vivid images tumbling over each other in his mind, of Aziraphale, and the whip, and the stool… brutal lessons focused on training Gabriel to perfect silence. 

And…  _ Crowley _ . 

Bound in invisible restraints, frightened and struggling and still  _ insistent  _ that Gabriel get out of harm’s way while he had the chance. It was a sweet sentiment - a moving gesture of self-sacrifice - no matter how pointless. 

No matter how inevitable Gabriel’s  _ return _ to harm’s way. 

_ Aziraphale won’t hurt him,  _ Gabriel told himself… and mostly believed it.

_ He only likes to hurt me.  _

Gabriel didn’t want to think about Crowley right now. Thinking about Crowley made him feel scared, and guilty, and…  _ confused _ . 

_ Disgusting little slut…  _

Gabriel closed his eyes, suppressing a shiver and trying to focus on his much more pleasant surroundings - the warmth of the sun, the familiar sweet scent of the flowers, the quiet chatter of the people and the birds. 

The soft fluttering of many tiny wings taking flight drew Gabriel’s attention, and he opened his eyes again. The space before him where the doves had milled about was now empty. 

The space on the bench beside him was not empty any longer. 

Gabriel tensed at the expected touch, firm but gentle against his thigh - alarmed, but not surprised. He glanced down at the watch again - the timer still unchanged - and then at the hand that touched him, adorned with two familiar rings. He swallowed, taking a breath to steady himself before venturing a look up into Aziraphale’s warm, smiling face. 

The principality’s words, soft and knowing, carried neither approval nor accusation. 

“I thought I might find you here.” 

Gabriel glanced around, noticing with an uneasy feeling, and an unsettled question in his heart. 

Aziraphale was alone. 

********************************************************************************************

_ On his knees beneath the punishment bar in the backroom, Gabriel knew better than to demand anything of Aziraphale - knew better than to speak out of turn at all - but desperation drove the question from his lips.  _

_ “What did you do to Crowley?”  _

_ Aziraphale froze just inside the backroom, blinking in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed with anger over a cold smile as he swiftly closed the distance between them. Gabriel’s stomach quaked, regret immediately overwhelming him, even before Aziraphale grabbed his hair and jerked his head back, his neck craned at a sharp, painful angle as Aziraphale crouched down close.  _

_ “Crowley is none of your business,” he seethed, jerking Gabriel’s head back harder. “Crowley is  _ mine _.”  _

_ Gabriel couldn’t tear his gaze away from the frighteningly cold fire in Aziraphale’s eyes. There was something chillingly  _ familiar  _ in the way the principality spoke of his partner, not with fondness or affection, but with something akin to  _ menace _ \- a possessive intensity that promised vicious retribution should Gabriel, or anyone, even Crowley himself,  _ dare _ try to take the demon away from him.  _

_ Gabriel’s heart clenched.  _

_ He listened closely, trying to make out any sort of sound from upstairs - the sound of objects being cleared away after dinner… an angry word muttered to Crowley’s own self, as Gabriel had heard several times before when the demon was engrossed in his research… a single fucking footstep.  _

_ He heard only silence.  _

Maybe Crowley’s just asleep. 

_ Aziraphale hadn’t been able to put Crowley to sleep before, but… he seemed stronger now.  _

_ Or… Crowley was weaker, or… or something.  _

He was  _ really trying  _ to get to me - to stop Aziraphale and  _ help _ me. 

And he couldn’t. 

_ Aziraphale was unquestionably much more powerful than Crowley.  _

_ And Crowley was silent. _

_ “Did you hurt him?”  _

_ The question slipped from Gabriel’s lips, unimpeded by any attempt to silence himself. Ordinarily he’d have immediately cringed, mentally berating himself for his inability to  _ just fucking shut up _ , bracing for impending punishment.  _

_ Right now, he just needed to  _ know. 

Is Crowley okay? Please, Crowley… please be okay… 

_ Aziraphale surveyed him with quiet, surprised amusement at Gabriel’s disallowed but continued questions. His smile widened as he crouched down facing Gabriel, holding his head still with the fist clenched in his hair, his free hand gentle against Gabriel’s cheek.  _

_ “Now why would I hurt Crowley?” he asked, frighteningly soft, unsettlingly intimate as he leaned in to whisper, his lips brushing Gabriel’s ear, “I’ve got  _ you _.”  _

_ He drew back, releasing Gabriel in order to snap his fingers - and suddenly the stool and kettle appeared behind him.  _

_ Any shred of defiance or assertion collapsed with the panic that swept over Gabriel… any lingering persistent questions withered to ash in his mouth.  _

_ “Please,” he whimpered, tears falling from his eyes as Aziraphale grabbed his hair and dragged him across the floor, nearer to the stool. “Please don’t, sir, I’m sorry…” _

_ Aziraphale gave him a forceful shove as they reached it, taking a step back, his arms crossed in wordless expectation. His horrific threat echoed in Gabriel’s mind, his breath quickening with panic as he stared at the kettle - still steaming hot, and well within his reach.  _

_ “Please,” he begged Aziraphale, “I - I don’t think I can. I want to obey you, I want to please you, sir, but…” _

_ Aziraphale slapped what was left of his pleading explanation from his mouth, then gripped the back of his neck, fingers hard and punishing as he leaned in to hold Gabriel’s panicked gaze. His words were low with menace, and deadly certain.  _

_ “You will if I say you will.” _

_ He cast his gaze slyly toward the kettle, and then met Gabriel’s eyes again with a cold, anticipatory smile. He waved his hand in an elegant, circular gesture - and all at once the cuffs on Gabriel’s wrists began to move, pulling his hands from where they rested against his knees… up and forward, toward the steaming kettle. Instinctively Gabriel tried to pull away from the searing heat, but to no avail. Aziraphale’s hand at last stilled when Gabriel’s fingertips were a bare inch away from the hot metal.  _

_ Only then, Gabriel remembered to  _ breathe _ , gasping in deep draughts of air, staring at the cuffs, suspended immovable near the kettle, and holding him helpless. He couldn’t tear his panicked gaze from the dreadful sight - until Aziraphale gently cradled his face in both hands, tilting his head up until their eyes met again.  _

_ Aziraphale’s smile was knowing, sympathetic. “You’ll touch it if I want you to,” he explained softly. “And you’ll pour it down your own throat if I want you to. Your willing obedience is of course my preference, but trust me, my dove… you  _ will _ give me what I want.”  _

_ Gabriel nodded frantically. “Yes, sir,” he wept, desperate to appease Aziraphae. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry…” _

_ Aziraphale gently stroked his cheek, nodding slowly, before standing up straight again, allowing his fingers to trail up from Gabriel’s face to slide through his hair. He held his free hand poised to resume the gesture - to take what little space was left between Gabriel’s hands and the kettle - and Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat.  _

_ Aziraphale was silent for a long, weighted moment, before relenting with a sigh, and dropping his hand to his side.  _

_ “Isn’t it very fortunate for you, my dove,” he remarked softly, still stroking Gabriel’s hair, “that what I want right now… for quite possibly the first and only time in our long and storied relationship… requires you to  _ speak _. So… boiling your throat until you choke on your own overcooked flesh would be… while  _ entertaining _ …” His casual words carried a note of mild disappointment. “... counterproductive.”  _

_ Gabriel shuddered with mingled terror and relief.  _

_ “Yes, sir,” he sobbed. “Thank you, sir…” _

_ And then… Gabriel’s mind caught up with what Aziraphale was actually saying… beyond the part that meant he was  _ not _ going to pour the kettle down Gabriel’s throat.  _

He wants me to tell him about Crowley. 

What he’s been planning… the secrets he’s keeping. 

_ Aziraphale crouched down next to Gabriel again, at eye level, his serene gaze traveling to Gabriel’s bound hands - trembling, and unbearably near to the kettle already. He held his hand out between Gabriel and the kettle, within Gabriel’s sight - and then crooked his forefinger up just slightly.  _

_ The steam rising in a thin line from the kettle’s spout became a thick white billow, the heat rolling off the metal intensifying - and Gabriel couldn’t quite suppress a pleading, wordless whimper.  _

_ Aziraphale just kept running his fingers through Gabriel’s hair, slow and soothing. At last he broke the silence with a hushed, deceptively soft question.  _

_ “Tell me, my dove… just what  _ exactly _ is going on between you and my Crowley?”  _

_ Gabriel shook his head desperately. “I - I don’t know what you mean, nothing…”  _

_ Aziraphale’s gentle fingers clenched hard in Gabriel’s hair, yanking his head back so that his words were broken off in a startled, frightened yelp. The principality’s tone and volume were unchanged when he spoke again.  _

_ “Something has certainly…  _ shifted _ , between you. It’s obvious. But then… neither of you are particularly skilled at subtlety, are you?”  _

_ Gabriel’s supremely unhelpful mind leapt back to the time he’d spent alone with Crowley, and Crowley’s musings about the serpent’s subtlety.  _

_ Arguing Aziraphale’s point with Scripture didn’t seem like a particularly good idea. Gabriel wasn’t sure how to answer the question without betraying Crowley’s confidence, without placing him in greater danger.  _

_ So...he didn’t. _

_ “So many meaningful, secretive looks,” Aziraphale mused. “A few stolen moments in the kitchen. Perhaps... elsewhere, as well?”  _

_ “No,” Gabriel lied, shaking his head what little he could in Aziraphale’s grasp. “Please, sir…” _

_ Aziraphale eased his grip, fingers carding gently through Gabriel’s hair, soothing him. “Crowley keeps suggesting that I should employ a… softer hand, with you.”  _

_ He was quiet a moment, his thumb brushing through the short hairs at the base of Gabriel’s neck, confusingly pleasurable and oppressive all at once.  _

_ “Is that what he does? Is this how he touches you, Gabriel?”  _

_ Gabriel’s stomach lurched, a rush of panic overwhelming him. He couldn’t move his hands away from the kettle. He didn’t dare pull away from Aziraphale’s hand on his head. Caught on the razor’s edge of mercy and suffering, his heart and mind racing in useless, panicked circles, he tried to figure out what to do.  _

_ Aziraphale’s questions were dangerous - as much for Crowley as for Gabriel. Gabriel had no idea what Crowley might have told Aziraphale before Aziraphale had come downstairs. He didn’t even know what the plan was that Aziraphale wanted to hear about - or whether or not he knew there was a plan at all.  _

That’s why he didn’t tell you, _ Gabriel reminded himself, with merciless self-contempt.  _ So he wouldn’t have to worry about you keeping your mouth shut. 

_ Gabriel bit back the rushed, frantic answer on his lips.  _

_ He was panicking. Confused, and stupid, and ignorant of whatever conversation might have already occurred between Aziraphale and Crowley outside his hearing. Whatever he said, Aziraphale was bound to find some way to twist Gabriel’s own words around him until he was so hopelessly tangled in them that he didn’t even realize what he was confessing, what secrets he was spilling.  _

_ Even a simple “no” in answer to Aziraphale’s question - denying that this was how Crowley touched him - would be an implication that Crowley  _ did touch him _.  _

_ There was only one safe course of action, one way to ensure he didn’t further incriminate and endanger Crowley.  _

_ Even if that one way made Aziraphale unspeakably pissed off with him.  _

_ Gabriel bit his lip… and said nothing.  _

_ Aziraphale’s eyes blazed with stunned, indignant disbelief, and he let out a sharp bark of laughter.  _

_ “Oh, so  _ now _ you decide to embrace silence, my dove?”  _

_ His eyes alight with vindictive, vicious intent, his free hand delved under the hem of the kilt, rude, invasive fingers seeking their target, gripping tight and  _ twisting, hard -  _ drawing a plaintive, pained cry from Gabriel’s lips. Aziraphale smiled in cruel satisfaction at having elicited the sound, leaning in close to whisper against Gabriel’s skin.  _

_ “You have a knack for the most  _ terrible _ timing, don’t you?”  _

_ Trembling with pain, his arms stretched uselessly in front of him, unable to resist or even evade Aziraphale’s harsh touch, Gabriel choked back a sob, turning his face away as Aziraphale caressed his hair, softly shushing him though he’d barely made a sound. Firmly, Aziraphale turned Gabriel’s face back toward him, kissing his temple before drawing back to study his face with narrowed, speculative eyes.  _

_ “No,” he sighed at last. “I don’t suppose this is how Crowley touches you, is it?”  _

_ He eased his grip, fingertips stroking in light, teasing brushes of skin against skin, Gabriel’s sensitive nerves singing a confusing cacophony as Aziraphale circled his cock with forefinger and thumb, dragging a slow, firm circle down toward its tip. Gabriel gasped at the rush of new sensation - rich and dark and sweet, flooding his body in places so unfamiliar with any sort of touch at all.  _

_ “Ah, so I’m getting warmer, then, am I?”  _

_ Aziraphale smirked, repeating and intensifying the motion. He shifted his own legs under him, achieving a more comfortable position, before wrapping his free arm around Gabriel’s waist and drawing him back against his own body, reaching up to stroke his hair and gently, insistently, pull Gabriel’s head back onto his shoulder.  _

_ Gabriel didn’t dare resist as he was manhandled into the position most convenient for Aziraphale, but he shook his head, turning his face away as tears of shame streaked his face.  _

_ “Please,” he whispered. “No…” _

_ Aziraphale’s fist gripped Gabriel’s hair, jerking slightly, a painful warning - and Gabriel’s brain short-circuited from the confusing mingled sensations of pain and pleasure evoked by the principality’s touch.  _

_ “Don’t say no to me,” Aziraphale snapped in Gabriel’s ear, low and savage. “The only words I want to hear from you, my dove… are the answers to my questions. Does Crowley touch you like this?”  _

_ Gabriel closed his eyes, biting his lip… and said not a word.  _

_ Aziraphale swore under his breath - a dark, ugly Enochian curse unknown to humankind - and intensified his efforts. Gabriel shuddered, squirming uselessly against the full body contact with Aziraphale - on and around and all over him, utterly inescapable.  _

_ “Perhaps not,” Aziraphale mused, unconcerned in the slightest with Gabriel’s distress. “You seem rather… caught off guard by the whole process, as if it’s all just… completely unexpected. Perhaps Crowley  _ hasn’t _ indulged your sinful nature in such a physical manner…  _ just yet _.”  _

_ Gabriel kept silent.  _

_ Aziraphale’s breath was hot against his ear, his tone one of soft, knowing accusation.  _

_ “But you’d very much like him to… wouldn’t you?”  _

_ The question was startling - blindsiding.  _

_ Gabriel had never really considered it. He wondered if it was true. Regardless, he knew better than to offer any answer, but… he did know that… he liked it when Crowley touched him.  _

_ It… didn’t hurt.  _

_ A vivid image filled Gabriel’s mind behind his tightly shut eyes - Crowley’s hands.  _

_ Long, elegant fingers stroking gently through his hair, in a patient, methodical rhythm that lulled him to rest… firm, purposeful hands taking his own in a grasp that was cautious, unrestrictive, as the demon carefully examined them for injuries. Lithe, willowy arms wrapping around Gabriel’s body, unexpectedly, in the kitchen - the startling pressure of an impulsive embrace that, for just a few moments, made Gabriel feel… safe. Like maybe everything would be okay, after all.  _

_ In his mind, Gabriel lifted his gaze from the demon’s slender hands to meet warm, worried golden eyes - searching Gabriel’s face with honest concern.  _

_ Gabriel’s focus fell on Crowley’s lips - parted and hesitant, soft and inviting. They never spoke harshly to Gabriel, never threatened or degraded - only offered gentle, compassionate reassurances.  _

He’s wrong about you. You don’t deserve this. 

I’m going to find a way to save you. 

_ “Has he kissed you?”  _

_ The deceptively casual question sparked a brand new image in Gabriel’s mind - imagination as opposed to reality. The shock of gentle impact as soft lips crushed themselves to his… strong, slender fingers sliding into his hair and encouraging him closer…  _

_ Gabriel had never been kissed by anyone. He’d never really had any interest in trying it. But now…  _

_ “You’d like that… you want him to…” _

Do you like that? 

_ Aziraphale’s touch was just soft enough that Gabriel could imagine it was Crowley’s hand instead. Crowley’s dream voice drowning out the reality of Aziraphale’s taunts, Gabriel drew in a shuddering breath, imagining the feeling of Crowley’s hands skating lightly across his skin, gently exploring.  _

_ No one but Aziraphale had ever touched Gabriel where his imagined version of Crowley was touching him now.  _

_ Until this moment… Gabriel had never thought he’d ever want anyone to. _

_ All at once, a hot rush of sensation overwhelmed Gabriel - an electric pulse, a sweet flood of heat that flowed from him, unbearable tension released in a soft haze of pleasure.  _

_ Aziraphale withdrew his hand, and Gabriel blinked up at him, suddenly strangely sleepy - fears faded into a strange sense of calm. He watched with some detachment as Aziraphale glared down at his own hand in disgust, shaking it once and miraculously rendering it clean of the thick white spendings that he always insisted that Gabriel swallow down.  _

Is this what it feels like, for him? My penance? 

_ The remembrance of penance was like an unpleasant splash of cold water in Gabriel’s face - followed immediately by a hot rush of shame.  _

_ He looked away, lowering his head. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, hesitant and uncertain. “I didn’t mean to…” _

_ “Well,” Aziraphale remarked, resentment and accusation burning in his eyes. “I suppose that’s answer enough, isn’t it?”  _

_ Gabriel blinked at him in confusion and rising panic.  _

No. No, I didn’t answer anything. I didn’t say anything…

_ “No,” he blurted out, his mind racing trying to figure out what Aziraphale thought he’d given away. “No, sir, he hasn’t - I don’t - I…” _

_ “Oh, it’s far too late for your words, now, my dove,” Aziraphale sneered. “If you were even slightly more literate, you’d know - actions speak much louder. And you’ve already shown me quite clearly what a disgusting, deceptive little slut you are.” _

_ Gabriel flinched, shaking his head. “No…” _

_ “I know, it appears Crowley is… more or less innocent in all this. At least in the sense that he hasn’t  _ acted _ upon certain impulses. But  _ you _ …” _

_ Gabriel’s breath quickened, and he cringed away from the sheer  _ hate _ rolling off of Aziraphale, seeping from every word that left his twisted, sneering mouth.  _

_ “The secret feelings you’ve been indulging for my Crowley… whether or not he’s ever allowed you to act upon them… your aim is to take him from me.”  _

_ “No, sir,” Gabriel pleaded. “No, sir, I wouldn’t…” _

_ Aziraphale ignored him, shoving Gabriel off of him so that he fell awkwardly onto his side on the floor, his arms pulled painfully tight against the cuffs. He clenched his hands into fists in momentary panic at the sudden movement - but the cuffs that held his hands so alarmingly near to the kettle, also made it impossible for them to move any nearer to it.  _

_ Aziraphale waved his hand - and all at once, the invisible force holding the cuffs was released.  _

_ Gabriel awkwardly, shakily steadied himself up on his knees, wrapping his newly freed arms around his torso - confused and ashamed, desperately self-conscious.  _

_ So naturally, the next snap of Aziraphale’s fingers eliminated his shirt.  _

_ Shivering, Gabriel watched in fearful misery as Aziraphale took up the kettle by its handle, and gestured vaguely toward the stool with his free hand. Uncertain as to what was expected of him, Gabriel hesitantly placed his hands flat on the stool’s surface, as was often required of him, looking up at Aziraphale in an anxious question.  _

_ “Please, sir…” _

_ Aziraphale responded with a vicious kick to Gabriel’s ribs.  _

_ He waited until Gabriel’s coughing had faded enough that he could hear, his voice very soft as he instructed, “Wrap your arms around it… out of the way.”  _

_ Gabriel turned his gaze to the stool in confusion, unsure of what Aziraphale wanted. He bowed his body over it, wrapping his arms around its base.  _

_ “Like this?”  _

_ “Precisely like that,” Aziraphale affirmed softly, snapping his fingers again.  _

_ The cuffs abruptly locked onto the front side of the stool so that Gabriel could not move from the position. Then, Aziraphale kicked him again - a sharp, savage blow that he could not evade, hard enough to crack his ribs and set off another, more violent coughing fit. Aziraphale crouched next to him, fingers trailing lightly, patiently up and down his spine until the coughing had stopped. Then, he took firm hold of Gabriel’s hair, drawing his head back slowly, smiling into Gabriel’s eyes, his words quiet and mild.  _

_ “Now keep your fucking mouth shut.”  _

_ Gabriel tried to nod. When Aziraphale let him go, he bowed his head against the stool, still nodding as he gasped for breath. His helpless hands clenched into fists, panic creeping its way up over him, suffocating him. He had no idea what Aziraphale intended, but he thought he was braced for the worst.  _

_ And then, he felt the boiling hot water against his back.  _

_ Gabriel couldn’t hold back a scream.  _

_ Aziraphale kicked him again.  _

_ “You chose this, my dove,” he snarled. “You’re the one who refused to cooperate… refused to obey. And now you will suffer the consequences.” He leaned down, gripping Gabriel’s hair just to slam his face into the stool to emphasize his words. “And since you’re so enamored of  _ silence _ at the moment… that is how you will bear your punishment.”  _

_ Gabriel nodded, desperate, breathless sobs torn from his lungs, a line of agonizing fire seared into his back, all down his left side.  _

_ Aziraphale yanked Gabriel’s face up close to his, biting off sharp, terrifying words in his ear.  _

_ “Be grateful your punishment doesn’t involve your  _ actual _ wings.”  _

_ Gabriel had no idea what Aziraphale meant by that. He shivered, biting down on his lower lip, bracing himself to be silent for the next onslaught of pain. He couldn’t quite manage it, choked groans of anguish escaping his lips, and then turning to sobs of desperate, pleading surrender - as Aziraphale continued to trickle boiling water slowly onto his back in lines and arcs of fire.  _

_ Finally, Aziraphale was satisfied with whatever gruesome image he’d etched into Gabriel’s skin.  _

_ He crouched down next to Gabriel, watching his pitiful, shaking sobs for a few moments, before he snapped his fingers to release Gabriel’s wrists from the stool. Gabriel didn’t move, weary and exhausted, his limbs unbearably heavy, his entire body consumed with the sensation of  _ fire _.  _

_ Aziraphale’s firm, insistent hands took Gabriel’s arms, pulling him up off of the stool and steadying him on his knees. He pushed a hand through Gabriel’s hair, then brushed tears from his face with his thumb, his intent gaze searching Gabriel’s face until he made eye contact.  _

_ “Crowley will  _ never _ touch you like you want him to,” Aziraphale whispered, hushed and emphatic. “He’ll never want to. The only one who will  _ ever _ touch you… is  _ me _.”  _

_ Gabriel nodded, weeping softly, despairingly. “Yes, sir.”  _

_ Aziraphale nodded once, firmly, in affirmation.  _

_ Then, he stood up straight, gripping Gabriel’s arm and hauling him up with him. Weak and staggering with pain, Gabriel struggled to keep up with Aziraphale as he dragged him to the chair… where he immediately set about emphasizing his point.  _

_ Staking his claim.  _

_ He was more brutally forceful than usual - driving into Gabriel’s body with hard, punishing thrusts that jarred Gabriel’s agonized back, igniting fresh fire, even as he slammed Gabriel’s stomach into the back of the chair and drove the breath from his body, every thrust a new, brutal blow against his throbbing ribs.  _

_ Gabriel was only vaguely aware when the pounding on the backroom door started.  _

_ Crowley couldn’t get in - of course he couldn’t - and Gabriel didn’t want him to.  _

Please don’t... don’t see this… don’t see me like this… 

_ “Shall we let him in?” Aziraphale murmured, a teasing lilt to his words. “He’s trying so hard… let’s open the door… allow him to see what a dirty, disgusting little whore you are…” _

_ “Please don’t,” Gabriel sobbed. “Please, sir…” _

_ He might as well have  _ asked _ Aziraphale to do it - because the immediate response to his despairing plea was the snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, releasing the miracle he’d used to keep Crowley out. Just as Crowley burst through the door, Aziraphale leaned in to whisper, cruel and nasty in Gabriel’s ear.  _

_ “He’ll never want to  _ look _ at you again… much less  _ touch _ you.”  _

_ ********************************************************************************************* _

“The doves have gone.” 

Gabriel didn’t really mean to make the observation aloud. 

He didn’t really understand why it made him sad. 

“Doves?” Aziraphale sniffed in distaste. “Oh, those are just common pigeons. Dirty, greedy, noisy things.” He cast an appraising look at Gabriel, slowly eyeing him up and down, a hint of a cruel smile at the corner of his mouth. “Of course… I suppose sometimes it’s difficult to tell the difference.” 

He shifted in nearer to Gabriel on the bench, lifting his hand from his thigh in order to wrap his arm around Gabriel’s shoulders in a gesture that might have seemed casual and companionable to any passing observer. 

Gabriel tensed, his stomach twisting in knots as he instinctively tried to edge away. 

Aziraphale’s arm tightened, his hand lifting behind Gabriel’s head to play with his hair… and then to grip it tight in warning, holding him still as he leaned in close, words clipped and hushed. 

“If you make a scene, you’ll very swiftly regret it, my dove.”

Gabriel went very still. 

“Please, sir…”

Aziraphale didn’t even look at him, his gaze cast absently across the park as he closed his free hand into a fist and drove it into Gabriel’s ribs. 

Even as he gasped for breath, Gabriel was vaguely grateful for Crowley’s healing miracle that had undone the damage from all the times Aziraphale had kicked him. 

Gabriel looked up to see a human woman stopped on the sidewalk a few yards away, frowning at them as other humans milled past her, not having noticed whatever had caught her attention. She hesitated a moment, glancing around before starting toward them. 

Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes, waving a hand in her general direction. She stopped short, glancing around again, frowning - but this time, as if she’d forgotten something. She shook her head in puzzled dismissal and went on her way. 

“You simply can’t help drawing attention to yourself, can you?” Aziraphale smirked. “Well, then, I suppose I can do something about that.” 

He waved a hand in a vague gesture that encompassed the area surrounding them. 

“There. Now no one will notice a thing.” 

It was effortless. He didn’t look even slightly fazed by the miracle, relaxing into the bench as he maintained it without a second thought. 

Gabriel looked back at the spot where the birds had been - and were beginning to gather again, near the bench. He closed his eyes, swallowing back a choked little cry as Aziraphale’s free hand fell between his legs, groping him over his jeans. 

“Please don’t,” Gabriel whispered. “Please, sir…”

“Oh, you can’t fool me, dove,” Aziraphale retorted, soft and knowing. “You’ve already demonstrated what a needy, desperate little thing you are.” He leaned in to whisper against Gabriel’s ear. “ _ You want this _ .” 

“No,” Gabriel whispered, shaking his head, tearful and pleading. “No, I don’t…”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale’s smile faded. “Not from me, perhaps.” 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched. “That’s… n-not what I…”

His words broke off with a stifled yelp when Aziraphale’s hand tightened between his legs, his fingers digging into Gabriel’s shoulder, words clipped and cold and measured. 

“How fortunate for me that it doesn’t matter in the slightest what you want.” 

“Please,” Gabriel gasped, tucking his hand under his thighs, pressed tight between his body and the bench to prevent his own impulse to resist. “Please, sir, I’m sorry…”

“Shhh,” Aziraphale soothed him, at last lifting his hand to caress the backs of his fingers down Gabriel’s face, wiping away an errant tear. “I’m not going to hurt you, dove. Not anymore, not just now. I’m feeling rather generous, you see. All’s well in the world again.” 

Gabriel ventured a glance up at him, uncertain, worried. 

Aziraphale was smiling with serene contentment. 

“Crowley has seen you for what you actually are,” he explained with clear satisfaction. “And he’s come around, as I always knew he would. He understands how things need to be now.” 

Gabriel didn’t know what that meant - only that the Crowley he knew would never be willing to accept Aziraphale’s definition of “right”. 

_ Is Crowley okay? What did Aziraphale do to him? _

He didn’t dare ask. 

He didn’t need to. He would know soon enough. 

Aziraphale leaned back against the bench, his arm around Gabriel relaxing a little as he looked around and drew in a deep, satisfied breath, then let it out slowly, closing his eyes. 

“Such a lovely day,” he remarked. “Warm and bright…” He smiled, fingers idly playing through Gabriel’s hair. “Take a moment to soak it in, my dove. Such a day should be savored. You never know when you might have another like it.” 

Gabriel was far too shaken to savor anything - confused at Aziraphale’s strange instructions - but he did his best to at least give the appearance of obedience. He closed his eyes and drew in a stuttering breath, trying to focus on the sounds that had so soothed him before Aziraphale’s arrival. 

The people quietly talking amongst themselves, oblivious to the pair on the bench as they passed… the rustling of the breeze through the trees, and through Gabriel’s hair… the sweet, soft scent of the flowers…

“It’d all be a molten mess of nothing by now, if you’d had your way.” 

The hard note of quiet anger in Aziraphale’s voice jolted Gabriel right out of whatever fragile sense of calm he’d managed. 

“All these lovely, innocent humans… dead or worse. All Her stunning, magnificent creation… destroyed, for the sake of your pride.” 

Gabriel shivered, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.” 

It was the honest truth. 

He’d been wrong about so many things. 

“Shh,” Aziraphale tugged sharply at a bit of Gabriel’s hair - nothing more than a light, warning sting. “Don’t spoil it with your incessant mouth.” 

Gabriel bit his lip. 

A pigeon landed on the arm of the bench nearest Gabriel, a few inches from the archangel. Gabriel blinked at it, startled - and it blinked back at him, hopping a few steps to one side, and then to the other, its small gray head tilted in curiosity. Oddly mesmerized, Gabriel reached out a tentative hand, fingers edging toward the bird. 

Aziraphale gave a disdainful sniff, and a swift, sharp wave of his hand. 

The pigeon dropped from the bench to the ground - still as death. 

“Silly, impertinent thing,” Aziraphale huffed, patting Gabriel’s leg in a vaguely reassuring manner, his tone pointed and warning. “She ought not to have ventured where she didn’t belong.” 

Gabriel shivered, staring down at the bird’s still, lifeless form. 

“It’s important to remember one’s place… isn’t it, my dove?” 

Gabriel nodded, swallowing slowly, unable to form words for the moment. 

“Speaking of…” Aziraphale sighed, leaning over to place a light peck against Gabriel’s temple, squeezing his shoulders before releasing him. He rose to his feet, taking Gabriel’s hand and pulling him up as well. “We ought to be headed home.” 

Gabriel’s heart  _ ached _ for home - but sank with the certainty that Aziraphale was  _ not _ talking about Heaven. 

With a wave of his hand, Aziraphale dismissed the illusion that prevented the surrounding humans from seeing Gabriel’s distress, then slid his arm around Gabriel’s waist and began to lead him toward the park exit. 

“If you do anything to draw attention, my dear,” he murmured, in the low, enticing tone of a lover, leaning in to kiss Gabriel’s cheek, “I’ll string you up in the backroom… strip you bare… and flay that ridiculous, troublesome cock of yours with hellfire until it’s no longer of any difficulty to you… or any temptation to anyone else. Do us  _ all _ a favor, yes?” 

“No, sir,” Gabriel whispered, barely able to draw breath for the terror that seized his chest. He shifted in closer to Aziraphale, tilting his head in toward him in a parody of trusting affection - doing the best he could to present the sort of image it seemed Aziraphale was going for, to anyone who might have been watching them. “Y-you won’t have to,” he pleaded, hushed and breathless. “I - I won’t make a scene.”

“I don’t know about that,” Aziraphale said, very soft, almost affectionate, glancing slyly over his shoulder and drawing Gabriel’s gaze toward the other humans on the path with them. 

Most were paying them only the slightest attention as they passed, but one or two looked toward them with gentle amusement. Aziraphale met Gabriel’s eyes again, his eyes alight with secretive pleasure, his words soft and approving. 

“I’d say you’re making quite a pretty scene indeed.” 

Then he leaned in just a little… just enough to softly kiss Gabriel’s lips. 

Gabriel went very still, stunned by the gesture. 

Aziraphale gave him a warm, tender smile for the benefit of their audience, then leaned in to whisper into his ear. 

“That’s something you’ll  _ never _ get from Crowley.” 

Gabriel could feel Aziraphale’s cruel smile against his skin. 

“You will receive  _ only _ what  _ I _ choose to give you.” 

The walk back seemed both interminable, and far too brief. Each step grew heavier for Gabriel as they neared the bookshop, and whatever horrific fate awaited him inside. Aziraphale adjusted his position as he opened the door - no longer embracing Gabriel with a lover’s arm around his waist, but instead gripping his arm and firmly steering him up the stairs. 

Gabriel held his breath as they stepped into the apartment, his heart racing with alarm. 

_ Please be okay, Crowley… please be okay…  _

Crowley was lounging on the sofa, playing with his phone, looking bored and vaguely annoyed and… still wearing the cuffs, but not appearing to be restrained in any other way, or harmed, or in distress. He looked up when they entered - and his face broke into a beaming smile. 

“There you are, fucking _ finally _ !” 

He leapt up from the sofa and swiftly approached Aziraphale, his eyes alight with love. 

“My angel!” 

“Hello, darling,” Aziraphale crooned in response, releasing his grip on Gabriel’s arm to return Crowley’s affection. “Yes, I’m all yours…” 

He lifted his hand at his side, snapping his fingers and pointing sharply to the floor. 

It was no miracle; Gabriel recognized it as a wordless command, and slipped automatically to his knees - watching with horror as Crowley leaned in to kiss Aziraphale. The demon let out a pleased little hum as Aziraphale slid his arms around him, drawing him closer and deepening the kiss. Crowley drew back at last, bright and breathless, grinning. He didn’t seem to have noticed that Gabriel was there at all, the full force of his attention riveted onto Aziraphale. 

“That took  _ forever _ , angel, you said you wouldn’t be gone long!” 

Gabriel knew that he had only been away from the bookshop for somewhere around an hour - and Aziraphale, likely half as long. 

“What have you done to him?” Gabriel asked without thinking, his voice hushed with quiet horror. 

Crowley frowned at him, head tilted slightly with confusion. 

Aziraphale’s face twisted with rage - the only warning Gabriel received before Aziraphale turned toward him and leveled a brutal kick at his face, connecting with his temple and slamming his head into the wall. Everything went dark for a few seconds, as Gabriel slumped against the wall, unaware of anything but the sharp pain, and the deafening ringing in his ears. 

As it slowly faded, Aziraphale’s voice came back into focus, hushed and soothing and far too tender to be speaking to him. 

“... attempting to  _ divide _ us, Crowley. Merely trying to manipulate your sympathies, just as he’s done from the start. Do you know what he did just now, when I went to retrieve him, darling? When I found him in the park… the  _ manipulative little whore _ ?” 

The slight change in Aziraphale’s voice with the last few words - in both tone and direction - set off warning alarms in Gabriel’s mind, and he shook his head, trying to clear it, blinking away the warm, dark wetness that dripped into his eye as he looked up at them and tried to bring his vision into focus. 

Crowley was frowning, troubled - but shook his head, questioning eyes locked onto Aziraphale. 

Disgusted, accusing, Aziraphale declared, “He  _ kissed _ me, Crowley.” 

Gabriel’s heart sank, racing with mounting panic. 

_ No, no, I didn’t, I didn’t want it, please, Crowley, please don’t believe it…  _

Crowley gaped, staring at Aziraphale in outrage. “He did  _ what _ ?” 

He jerked free of Aziraphale’s grasp and was down in Gabriel’s face in an instant. Gabriel flinched away from the sheer fury in the demon’s golden eyes, holding up a single trembling, pleading hand and shaking his head in silent, desperate denial. 

“He’s right. I should never have felt sorry for you,” Crowley hissed in derision, glaring at Gabriel with the sort of hostility Gabriel hadn’t seen from him in months. “How fucking  _ dare _ you. I try to be  _ kind _ to you… try to do what I can to make your life just a little bit _ easier _ … and _ this _ is how you repay me? By trying to… to  _ steal my angel _ ?” 

_ So he remembers… he hasn’t forgotten… we were friends, he was… kind, but…  _

_ This isn’t right.  _ He  _ isn’t right.  _

_ Something is very wrong with him.  _

“Look at me!” Crowley snapped, roughly grabbing Gabriel’s shirt collar with one hand and giving him a swift, sharp little shake. “Aziraphale is  _ mine _ !” 

Gabriel nodded shakily - but his gaze was drawn to the cuffs locked around Crowley’s wrists. They were dangerously close to each other, the outer edges of the cuffs nearly brushing Crowley’s skin. 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel gasped out. “Yes, sir, please… please, be careful…”

Crowley frowned, going still, irritation mingled with confusion in his voice. “What?” 

“Your hands,” Gabriel whispered. “The blessing, please…”

Crowley blinked down at the cuffs, startled. He drew his wrists a little further apart, much to Gabriel’s relief - but then looked back up at Gabriel with a suspicious frown. 

“What do  _ you _ care?” 

“He doesn’t.” 

Aziraphale’s tone was cold and angry, as he glared down at Gabriel. “He cares only for himself. He’s merely trying to distract you. Trust me, Crowley. I know him all too well.” 

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, slowly nodding as he let go of Gabriel and backed off a few steps, watching him with guarded eyes, as if the archangel might attempt to attack him. “Yeah, that makes more sense.” 

Gabriel’s heart felt as if it’d just been cracked open and hollowed out.

Aziraphale swiftly moved in to take Crowley’s place, and Gabriel flinched as Aziraphale crouched down to meet his eyes with a cold smile. 

“You’ll find I’m not so easily distracted.” 

Gabriel shivered, but did not venture a response - just kept still and quiet as Aziraphale turned once more toward Crowley with a weary, put-upon sigh. 

“I’ll have to punish him now,” he stated matter-of-factly. “For attempting to come between us again.” 

“Yeah, all right,” Crowley agreed easily, nodding and casting a resentful look toward Gabriel. 

“Let’s see…” Aziraphale mused. “What sort of punishment suits this particular offense?”

He turned his gaze toward Crowley for a moment, thoughtful and speculative - a slow smile spreading across his face, eyes lit with the seed of some horrific intention.

“I’ve got just the thing,” he concluded, watching Crowley closely for his reaction. 

_ Testing the limits of whatever he’s done to him,  _ Gabriel realized, with a sinking heart.  _ How much of Crowley is still left in there… enough to not want to see me hurt? Enough to protest, if he does something terrible enough?  _

_ Oh, shit. That means he’s gonna… whatever he’s gonna do, it’s gonna be…  _

Aziraphale stood up straight again and snapped his fingers.

Gabriel flinched violently, braced for some terrible consequence - surprised and confused when it was merely the cane which appeared in Aziraphale’s hands. 

_ Just… just the cane?  _

_ No… it can’t be just the cane…  _

Aziraphale smiled at Gabriel, taking in his reaction with a calculating smile. 

“Just an ordinary cane,” he observed, quiet and thoughtful. He met Gabriel’s eyes with a malicious light of amusement. “I had  _ just an ordinary _ dagger, once, too.” 

Gabriel’s heart sank - and even deeper into despair when he saw the grin of amusement on Crowley’s face. 

“Oh, my clever angel,” he said with affectionate amusement. Then he glared at Gabriel, hostile and defensive. “ _ My _ clever angel,” he repeated sharply. “Not yours.” 

Gabriel might have retorted that Crowley was welcome to him - if he’d thought he could say so without bringing down even more vicious punishment upon himself than was already going to be inflicted.

Or if he’d thought for even  _ one second _ that Crowley  _ actually wanted  _ Aziraphale. 

_ Aziraphale’s controlling him somehow. He’s altered his mind, he’s forcing Crowley to be loyal to him…  _

_ I have to find a way to save him. _

Aziraphale produced a small flame in the hollow of his hand, blowing on it lightly to stoke it to higher intensity - though there didn’t seem to be anything there for it to consume. Then, he brought the flame in his hand toward the tip of the cane, molding the fire around it, until the wood was dark and glowing red like an ember. 

_ Or like the fires of Hell… _

Aziraphale lowered the cane to his side. Gabriel found his eyes drawn to the ominous glow at its tip, an inch from the floor, as Aziraphale moved in close to Gabriel and then reached one hand down to tilt his head up. He held his eyes with a cruel smile. 

“For your lies,” he stated, “and your manipulative words. Your attempts to divide us…” He traced his thumb along Gabriel’s trembling lower lip. “For once again, offering yourself to me in a pathetic attempt to spare yourself your due punishment. For, with this incorrigible  _ mouth _ …” He glanced slyly over his shoulder at Crowley, watching him as he concluded, “... attempting to claim what is not rightfully yours...”

“Damn right it’s not,” Crowley interjected, pacing a few steps nearer, and then turning away. He stopped, turning to face them again, a slight frown creasing his brow. “What are you gonna do to him, angel?” 

Aziraphale gazed down at Gabriel, solemn and accusing. “I’m going to make sure the consequences of his actions are severe enough that he never attempts them again.” He paused. “And I’m going to make sure he  _ can’t _ attempt them again for a while.” He turned his head, watching Crowley when he spoke again, his simple words making Gabriel’s stomach plummet to the floor. 

“Open your mouth, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel bit his lip, shaking his head, turning his face away. 

“ _ Open your mouth _ ,” Aziraphale snarled, grabbing Gabriel’s jaw and jerking his head up. 

Gabriel reached up and caught Aziraphale’s wrist, trying to dislodge his grip. 

“Please,” he choked out. “Please, don’t,  _ please _ … I didn’t even…” 

Aziraphale let go of him, only to deliver a breathtaking, silencing slap across his face. Then he moved in and grabbed Gabriel’s hair, leaning in close to his ear, his words low and dripping with menace. 

“ _ Don’t you fucking dare _ .” 

Gabriel shook his head, choking back sobs. “I’m sorry,” he cried, swiftly backpedaling from the truth and shifting to an explanation more in line with Aziraphale’s lies. “I - I’m sorry, I did it… I didn’t  _ mean _ to do it, please, I’m  _ sorry _ , Crowley…”

He looked up through tears, vaguely surprised that Aziraphale hadn’t struck him again - for appealing directly to Crowley… for calling Crowley by name. And then, he understood, when he saw that Aziraphale’s attention was focused on Crowley - waiting for his reaction. 

Crowley was taking in the scene with dubious eyes, his expression troubled. 

“Angel?” he said, soft and uncertain. 

“He deserves it,” Aziraphale stated with quiet certainty, waiting until Crowley looked up at him to nod once and continue, “He’s guilty. And he deserves to be punished. Trust me.” 

“I do,” Crowley said, immediately and simply. “If you say he deserves it, then he deserves it. I believe you.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, darling.” He turned his focus back toward Gabriel, his tone hard as ice. “Open your mouth.” 

“Please,” Gabriel sobbed. “Please don’t do this, please I’ll never do it again,  _ please _ …”

His desperate, frantic pleas meant nothing to Aziraphale - or apparently, to Crowley, who sat down on the sofa, looking vaguely unsettled by the whole affair and averting his eyes from the gory reality of it - but making no move to intervene as Aziraphale shoved Gabriel’s head back against the wall, squeezed his jaw until his mouth was forced open… and shoved the hellfire tip of the cane halfway down Gabriel’s throat. 

After that moment, Gabriel’s mind and body could process nothing but  _ unspeakable pain _ .

The garbled sounds of anguish that escaped his lips did not resemble words in the slightest. Gabriel hardly even recognized that he was the one making them, until they were choked off by the mingled blood and ash and bile that filled his mouth. 

At last his overwhelmed mind made the executive decision that it was officially Too Much - and all faded out into merciful darkness. 

********************************************************************************************

Gabriel awakened on the floor in the cool, dark stillness of the backroom - his face aflame with searing torment. The blood and ash were gone; as was his usual practice, Aziraphale had healed and cleaned away all but the hellfire burns themselves. And some time seemed to have passed, as he could tell that the natural healing process had begun - though it was impossible to tell how far along it was. 

He healed much more slowly these days than he had in the past. 

Gabriel vaguely registered that his clothing was gone as well - and although his archangelic corporation did not really feel the cold, he huddled in a corner of the room, his body curled into a protective position, shivering with the cold of sheer  _ shock _ . 

The backroom door creaked open, and Gabriel cringed back against the wall, trembling with dread as Aziraphale entered the room at a slow, measured pace. He stopped just in front of the red rug positioned beneath the punishment bar. Snapped his fingers and pointed to his own feet. 

Gabriel shuddered, but nodded quickly, a choked whimper escaping his lips as even that slight movement jarred his injuries. He swallowed - and that set his mouth and throat freshly alight as he scrambled on hands and knees to reach the place where Aziraphale wanted him. 

He was almost there. 

Aziraphale stared down at him for a long moment, cold and impassive - and then tossed the hellfire cuffs down at his feet. 

Gabriel immediately took them up with trembling hands, locking them onto his wrists and looking up at Aziraphale in rapt, dreadful attention - terrified to miss some command, to bring more punishment upon himself. 

“Well. You made quite a mess of things, didn’t you?” 

Gabriel couldn’t remember what he’d done wrong, this time. 

Aziraphale had told Crowley Gabriel had kissed him, but… he hadn’t. Aziraphale  _ knew _ he hadn’t. There had to be something else. He had to have earned this, somehow. 

_ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please…  _

His lips parted, but couldn’t begin to form the words - the sounds that came out, shockingly garbled and inhuman. 

Aziraphale backhanded him viciously, knocking him onto his face on the floor, setting off a fresh shockwave of agony. Then he grabbed the back of Gabriel’s neck roughly and jerked him up again with one hand, his lips twisted in mingled anger and amusement. 

“Even when you  _ literally cannot _ speak… you can’t keep silent, can you?” 

_ Stupid, stupid useless little idiot… shut up,  _ shut up _ … _

“The rules seem to have become a bit hazy to you of late, haven’t they?” Aziraphale remarked coldly, running his fingers through Gabriel’s hair. “Which… is not  _ entirely _ your fault,” he conceded, his tone softening as he crouched down to meet Gabriel’s eyes. “Let me clarify it for you.” 

He jerked Gabriel in closer to him, fierce blue eyes blazing into Gabriel’s, arresting his attention and not allowing him to look away. 

“Your burns will heal,” he stated softly. “They won’t even scar. It’ll be as if they’d never happened. If you behave yourself properly, well… I may even decide to heal you before that happens naturally.”

_ Please, please, sir, yes, thank you, please…  _

“When you  _ can _ speak,” Aziraphale continued, cool and measured, “you will speak  _ only _ when spoken to, my dove. Do you understand?” 

Gabriel nodded. 

“You will be  _ silent _ … and attentive… and  _ perfectly _ obedient, won’t you, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel nodded again, eagerly, frantically. 

Aziraphale laughed, harsh and cruel. “Crowley won’t be assisting you with your chores any longer, so you’re going to have to learn how to  _ actually work _ for a change.” His eyes burned with cold triumph as he continued. “He loves me again.  _ Wants _ me again, and only me. Your little ploy to steal him away, to sway him to your side… has failed. And it’s  _ over _ , Gabriel.” 

Gabriel nodded in  _ desperate surrender  _ \- hoarse, nearly soundless sobs torn from aching, breathless lungs. 

_ Crowley… please let Crowley be okay… please don’t hurt him, please…  _

Aziraphale’s voice lowered, words saturated with such hatred and menace that Gabriel trembled under the force of them. 

“You will not  _ speak _ to him… unless he speaks to your first, or unless I tell you to do so. You will not attempt to draw his attention with your piteous dramatics. If you so much as _ look _ at Crowley without my permission…” Aziraphale’s expression softened with his tone, as he gently ran his thumb across Gabriel’s cheek, collecting his tears and brushing them away. “... I’ll scar this pretty face so hideously with hellfire that he won’t be able to stand to look back. Do I make myself  _ very clear _ , my dove?” 

_ Yes, sir, please don’t… yes, sir, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t…  _

He tried to voice his desperate acquiescence, but the words wouldn’t come out right, so he nodded frantically instead. 

“Crowley is  _ mine _ ,” Aziraphale declared, with fierce conviction, his hand sliding back to grip Gabriel’s hair and pull him in close to his face, his soft smile nearly grazing Gabriel’s trembling, gasping lips. “And  _ you _ are mine,” he concluded, very softly. “Aren’t you, Gabriel?” 

Gabriel nodded desperately, tears streaking his face. 

“You  _ belong to me _ . Don’t you?” 

Aziraphale emphasized his words with an exaggerated, leading nod, and Gabriel obediently nodded along with him, hurried and shaky.

_ Yes, sir, I’m yours if you say I am, I’m  _ whatever _ you say I am,  _ please _... _

The words remained trapped in his ravaged throat, a frantically circling litany in his mind; only choked, unintelligible sobs escaped his lips, broken and desperate. 

Aziraphale gave him a slow, satisfied once-over, his lips parted and curled with contempt. His hand fell from Gabriel’s hair to brush lightly over the mark on his chest instead - then dropped lower, sliding down his side and resting at his hip. Gabriel shivered with fear and helpless humiliation at his exposure, as Aziraphale leaned in closer, tracing slow circles into the jutting bone that had once been covered in firm muscle. 

“You’ll be dressed just like this most of the time, from now on,” Aziraphale declared. “Which is to say, not at all. Your shame deserves no covering. When you’re upstairs serving me and Crowley, you’ll be dressed of course, as Crowley prefers it. He doesn’t particularly enjoy sharing, you know.” 

His smirk faded into a deadly soft, warning glare. 

“But… what he does not know… won’t hurt you, will it, my dove?” 

Gabriel shook his head, wincing as he swallowed convulsively, sending another shock of agony down his throat. 

“The rules will be much more strictly enforced now,” Aziraphale continued, thoughtful. “But you’ll adjust. You’ll have plenty of time to get used to the way things will be from here on out...” 

Something in his tone settled a heavy pit in Gabriel’s stomach - and his mind flew back to the park bench, and Aziraphale’s inexplicable encouragement, advising him to  _ savor it _ . 

_ “You never know when you’ll have another day like this…” _

A hint of warning of what Aziraphale already knew he intended. 

A last mercy to a dying man. 

Aziraphale’s smile sent a trickle of dread down Gabriel’s spine - his soft words a death knell for Gabriel’s swiftly fading hope. 

“Because, my sweet dove… you are  _ never _ leaving this place again.” 


	36. Chapter 36

So.... check out this stunning banner made for this story by the lovely and talented Szilra!! <3 <3 <3 

I think it's just gorgeous, and captures so much of the themes of this story, so beautiful!!!! <3 <3 <3 

All right... in just under the wire... here's this week's update... really hope you all enjoy it <3 *hugs* 

A week passed before Gabriel’s mouth had healed enough to allow him to speak clearly. 

In the days that followed, Gabriel wrestled with his own terror, struggling to find the nerve to speak at all. 

Because… he  _ had _ to. 

_ You have to say something… have to ask.  _

_ If you don’t… and she comes here…  _

Gabriel tried to wait until Aziraphale was in a reasonably good mood - because he knew that the moment he opened his mouth, Aziraphale’s mood would shift to something darker. Day after day, he carefully completed the chores Aziraphale gave him, and then waited in quiet obedience at the stool while Aziraphale inspected his work.

Every time, Aziraphale came away from the inspection  _ furious _ . 

Gabriel was  _ so exhausted _ . 

Always  _ hurting _ . 

As the burns in his mouth began to heal, that only allowed him to  _ actually feel _ the other pains - scores of bruises and burns and livid lashes from the endless punishments Aziraphale inflicted - for Gabriel’s endless _ failures _ . 

He tried _ so hard _ . He  _ really  _ did. 

But no matter how carefully he tried to listen to the instructions he was given and follow them exactly - somehow, he always managed to get something wrong. And each new failure ended in exactly the same way.

Gabriel, huddled and cowering on the floor, reduced to frustrated, despairing tears. 

Aziraphale, looming over him with disgust, and reinforcing with frighteningly creative violence just what an utter disappointment he was. 

Every time, the words he’d been preparing to speak were overwhelmed in his mind by pleas for mercy and forgiveness that he just barely remembered to choke back. 

_ Just keep your mouth shut, he doesn’t want to hear anything from you…  _

_ But… you’re running out of time.  _

Today, Aziraphale had given him a new task - laundry. Specifically, ironing several of  _ Crowley’s _ shirts. 

“I’ve kept this ensemble of mine in tip-top condition for nearly two centuries,” Aziraphale had declared, giving Gabriel a contemptuous look. “I wouldn’t  _ dream _ of entrusting its care to  _ your _ clumsy hands.” 

He had shown Gabriel how to set up the ironing board, how to heat the iron to the proper temperature, and then how to use the steam it created to press the wrinkles out of the shirts. It was like magic, or a small miracle - an unnecessarily time-consuming sort of miracle, Gabriel thought, when Aziraphale could just as easily snap his fingers and instantly render all the shirts to smooth, wrinkle-free perfection. 

_ But then he’d have to come up with some  _ other _ brand new thing for you to fail at. Some other reason to punish you.  _

_ Not difficult. Since you seem to suck at everything.  _

_ Crowley must have been helping a _ lot  _ more than you realized. _

Aziraphale was reading aloud, so Gabriel hazarded a fleeting glance up from his work and in Crowley’s direction. The demon was lounging on the sofa, tucked in close to Aziraphale and listening quietly - golden eyes cast up toward the principality in pure adoration. 

_ Maybe now that Crowley’s not keeping an eye on you anymore, Aziraphale is doing more to sabotage your efforts, to make sure you don’t succeed. Like Crowley said... he  _ doesn’t want _ you to get it right…  _

_ Or maybe those are just excuses. Maybe you’re just that much of a stupid, useless fuck-up.  _

_ Yeah. It’s probably that last one.  _

That certainly seemed to be Aziraphale’s assessment of the situation. 

Unconsciously the fingers of his free hand drifted down, near the small, triangular burn just under the hem of his kilt - the tip of the heated iron pressed firmly into the inside of his thigh, as Aziraphale’s hand had pressed tightly over his mouth, Aziraphale’s body pressing him up against the wall. 

_ “You see, you must be very careful. The iron can get dangerously hot…” _

Gabriel shivered, shaking his head a little and lifting his hand to smooth the warm fabric the iron had just passed over. 

_ Who are you fucking kidding?  _

_ He doesn’t  _ need _ a reason to hurt you.  _

Gabriel glanced at the three shirts he’d already completed - two black, and one royal blue - hanging neatly on the cabinet door next to him. He inspected the last one, still laid out on the board, tentatively satisfied when he was unable to find any remaining wrinkles in the deep red fabric. He looked at the sample shirt Aziraphale had left out for him, hanging on the cabinet opposite the ones he had finished. 

They looked exactly the same - not a single flaw visible in his work. 

_ But… it’s there. Some flaw, or mistake - somewhere. And Aziraphale will find it.  _

_ He  _ always _ finds it.  _

Once the flaw was found and the punishment began, Gabriel knew he wouldn’t be allowed, or perhaps even  _ able, _ to speak; and even if he could, once Aziraphale had worked himself up into a fury, there was no way he would listen to anything Gabriel had to say.

And Gabriel  _ needed _ Aziraphale to listen. 

He left the final shirt on the ironing board and set the iron down. He steadied himself, drawing in a breath before lifting his finger to his lips in a gesture he hadn’t used in more than a week - waiting for Aziraphale to acknowledge him. 

Still, he shivered with apprehension when Aziraphale stopped reading aloud. He closed his eyes and braced himself as the principality murmured something soft to Crowley, then rose from the sofa and headed across the room toward him. 

“ _ Well _ ,” Aziraphale remarked with exaggerated astonishment. “ _ This _ is a surprise, isn’t it? You’ve been so very quiet lately, I’d nearly forgotten you  _ could _ speak. I must say it’s been incredibly…  _ refreshing _ .” He sighed as he reached Gabriel, pushing Gabriel’s finger down away from his lips to trace his own thumb across them instead. “Oh, well. All good things must end, I suppose. Has my little dove something he wishes to say?” 

Gabriel kept carefully still under Aziraphale’s touch, resisting the impulse to pull away. He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. 

Aziraphale crooked a finger under Gabriel’s chin, tilting the archangel’s head up to meet the calculating smile on his lips. 

“Go ahead, then,” he said softly. “Permission granted.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Gabriel whispered, flinching at the hoarse sound of his own disused voice. When it wasn’t immediately met with a slap, he continued, hushed and hesitant. “I - I just - I wanted to talk to you. To - ask what I should do, because - it’s been - two weeks. They’ll be wondering where I’ve gone. In Heaven.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale nodded, brow creased and lips pursed as he took a step into Gabriel’s space. “Quite right. I forgot how  _ absolutely essential _ your presence is, in order for Heaven to keep functioning properly. They must be all in a tizzy, running about without the faintest clue what to do with themselves without  _ your  _ indispensable guidance.” 

Gabriel cringed. “No, I - didn’t mean…” He shifted backward a little, shaking his head, eyes cast anxiously down to Aziraphale’s feet. “It’s just… Michael. She asked me, just before I left… if I’d spoken to you recently, and…”

“And you foolishly told her you had.” Aziraphale’s tone darkened, his smile fading into a cold, tight line. “I remember.” 

“I-I’m sorry…” Gabriel forced himself to go on, though his heart was racing, his mind screaming at him to just  _ stop talking _ , before he made everything  _ so much worse _ , but…

_ If she shows up here…  _ that _ would be worse.  _

_ That would be  _ disastrous _.  _

“It’s just that… she’ll be worried. And… I know she can’t… can’t sense where I am, with… with  _ these _ on…” He lifted his trembling hands in front of him to indicate the cuffs. “But… she knows I’ve been here recently. Maybe I should just… go tell her I’m going to be gone for a while? Give her… a reason? Whatever reason you say, I’ll tell her whatever you want me to tell her, just…”

“She already expects you to be away from Heaven frequently, yes?” Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed over a smile of cool, knowing suspicion. “You told me that you told her you would be.” 

“Yes, that’s right,” Gabriel assured him, nodding hurriedly. “And… she won’t be looking for me, yet. But… if I’m gone much longer. If I… just…” He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his stomach quaking. “...  _ don’t come back _ …” 

“Oh, I understand completely,” Aziraphale cut him off, his breezy tone underlaid with a sharp, accusing edge. “You’ve changed your mind about prioritizing her well-being. You want to go running to the relative safety of Heaven - hide there with your tail between your legs while she comes here to face me down. You’re perfectly happy endangering her - if perhaps it might mean your freedom.” 

“ _ No! _ ” Gabriel protested, shaking his head, his words hushed with quiet horror. “No, sir, that’s not…”

Aziraphale slapped him, knocking him staggering back a couple of steps - following after him and grabbing him by the back of the neck to haul him in close. 

“You don’t argue with me,” he hissed. 

Gabriel shook his head frantically, his breath quick and shallow. “N-no, sir, I - I’m sorry, sir…”

“He might have a point.” 

Crowley spoke up from the sofa, and Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. He dared not look up at the demon - not with Aziraphale so close and watching his every move - but he could hear the troubled frown in Crowley’s voice. 

“How do we know Heaven  _ won’t _ come looking for him here?” 

Aziraphale’s smile tightened with annoyance, his fingers digging into the back of Gabriel’s neck as he closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. With a visible effort he softened his expression, letting his breath out slowly before turning toward Crowley. 

“Measures have been taken to avoid such a situation, darling. I  _ know  _ they won’t,” he stated firmly, gazing warmly into Crowley’s eyes. “ _ Trust me _ .” 

With Aziraphale’s gaze averted, Gabriel ventured a glance up at Crowley. 

The demon blinked, seeming to consider Aziraphale’s words before he nodded once in unnervingly simple acquiescence.

“Okay.”

Gabriel barely had time for alarm at the question of what sort of  _ measures _ Aziraphale might have taken, before he realized that Aziraphale’s focus was back on him - blue eyes blazing with vindictive malice. 

Gabriel shivered, lowering his eyes, desperately hoping that Aziraphale had not caught him looking at Crowley. 

He could almost smell the acrid smoke of hellfire…

Aziraphale gripped Gabriel’s wrist, firm and unyielding as he drew him back the several steps he’d retreated, back within reach of the ironing board. With his free hand, Aziraphale lifted the iron. 

_ I’ll make sure he can’t stand to look at you… _

Gabriel stared at the hot metal in Aziraphale’s hand, before looking back up at Aziraphale, shaking his head in a silent plea. Aziraphale just nodded pointedly down toward the ironing board, at the shirt that remained on it… and the large, black, iron-shaped mark scorched into the red fabric. 

Aziraphale smiled coldly, his words very soft. 

“Now just look what you’ve done.” 

Gabriel’s breath quickened as he remembered the searing burn of the iron against his skin… Aziraphale’s pointed warning not to damage Crowley’s clothing...

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel whimpered. “ _ Please _ …”

Aziraphale stroked Gabriel’s palm with his thumb, his gaze lazily shifting to the iron. 

“Shut up.” 

Gabriel nodded hurriedly, pleadingly, his wrist pliant and unresisting in Aziraphale’s grasp. He choked back the stream of useless, desperate apologies, kept them trapped behind his lips as Aziraphale placed his hand on the ironing board, patting the back of it gently, before setting the iron down - its hot surface a bare inch from Gabriel’s hand. 

Gabriel knew better than to move, as Aziraphale took the shirt from the ironing board and turned toward Crowley, holding it up. 

“Crowley, darling,” he said brightly. “Would you say Gabriel’s done a satisfactory job with this shirt?”

Gabriel didn’t dare look directly at Crowley, but he could see the demon’s frown out of the corner of his eye. 

“Depends,” Crowley replied, his tone dry and flat as he looked over the ruined garment. “Did you ask him to iron it, or to set it on fire?” 

Aziraphale turned back toward Gabriel, giving him a pointed look. 

_ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t…  _

Gabriel’s lips parted, and then closed again, his shoulders quaking as he braced himself for punishment. 

Crowley sighed and snapped his fingers, and the shirt in Aziraphale’s hands was immediately whole again, and flawlessly pressed. 

“Not quite the same as the real job,” Crowley remarked, “but it’ll do.”

He snapped his fingers again, and the repaired shirt, as well as the others hanging on the cabinet door, immediately vanished. 

Aziraphale turned on his heel, in the same motion reaching out to grasp Gabriel’s hair and jerk his head down close to the hot iron. 

Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, wrestling into submission his panicked impulses to plead, to apologize, to resist and pull away. 

He kept perfectly still, trying not to think about the searing heat he could feel rolling off the iron’s metal surface, as Aziraphale held him there firmly, his tone cool and even. 

“I’ll be taking Gabriel to the backroom for a while, Crowley. Not only has he failed in his assigned task, but it seems he’s forgotten the rules again. He needs to be punished.” 

Crowley sighed heavily as he rose from the sofa, approaching Aziraphale and sliding one arm around his waist. 

  
“Come on, angel,” he murmured. “Can’t you just spend time with  _ me _ ? Let this go for now…”

“If I do that, then he learns _ nothing _ ,” Aziraphale said sternly. 

“Then miracle the wrinkles back and have him start over.” Crowley shrugged, giving Aziraphale a sly, enticing smile, running a single, teasing finger up his chest. “And while he’s trying again... you and I…”

Aziraphale stifled a sigh, giving Crowley a warm, apologetic smile as he caught Crowley’s finger and drew it down, away from him. “He’s had  _ enough _ chances, and I’ve  _ been _ spending time with you, darling…”

The edge of impatience in Aziraphale’s voice was becoming familiar. 

Whatever he’d done to Crowley had made the demon a little…  _ clingy _ . 

Aziraphale let go of Gabriel in order to turn and focus his full attention on Crowley, and Gabriel cautiously straightened a little, venturing a glance toward them while Aziraphale’s back was turned, as he took Crowley into his arms. Crowley gazed up at him with loving eyes that lit up when Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him softly. 

“Stay here, love,” Aziraphale instructs as their lips parted - and Crowley’s face fell. 

“Angel, I don’t like being away from you, I want to be  _ with _ you…”

“I said  _ stay here _ !” Aziraphale snapped. 

Crowley flinched, hurt in his wide, golden eyes. “I - I’m sorry, angel, I just - I miss you, and I - I love you, please don’t be angry with me…”

“I’m not,” Aziraphale assured him, his voice softer as he brushed Crowley’s hair back from his face. “It’s just that I have things that I must tend to… and it’s better if you wait for me here. You love me, so… you’ll do that. To make me happy. Won’t you, darling?” 

Crowley nodded quickly, tearful, pleading eyes searching Aziraphale’s face as Aziraphale led him back to the sofa and sat him down, before turning back toward Gabriel. 

Crowley immediately stood up again. 

“Do you want me to go get you a special treat for when you’re finished?” he eagerly offered. “Something from that bakery down the street? Or cocoa! I could make you cocoa?”

Aziraphale’s lip curled with contempt, and he rolled his eyes, his cheerful tone tight with annoyance. 

“That would be lovely, darling, thank you.” 

“But which do you want me to…”

“Surprise me.” 

Aziraphale’s gaze fell on Gabriel - and his eyes darkened with anger. 

Gabriel really hadn’t  _ meant _ for the horrified revulsion he felt at seeing what Crowley had been reduced to, to show on his face - but somehow, it must have. Because Aziraphale was glaring at him with defensive resentment. He grabbed Gabriel’s arm roughly, jerking him in close to him, and then snapped his fingers. 

Instantly they were alone, in the backroom. 

Gabriel had barely gotten his bearings from the abrupt shift, when Aziraphale released his arm, only to slap him fiercely, sending him staggering back a couple of steps. Instinctively Gabriel lifted his hands in front of himself in submission, sinking to his knees as Aziraphale swiftly closed in on him, not daring to speak. 

“Oh, no, my dove,” Aziraphale sneered, taking his arm in a bruising grip and hauling him back up. “No, you want to stand up for Michael, and for Crowley, so very badly, well  _ stand up _ , then!” 

Gabriel obeyed, though standing before Aziraphale felt strange, especially under the heavy weight of Aziraphale’s furious, accusing glare, bearing down on him. 

“You’re such a paragon of selflessness and virtue, are you?” Aziraphale seethed. “So very  _ disapproving _ , despite all  _ your  _ failings!” He moved in swiftly, grabbing Gabriel’s hair and leaning in very close to his face. “My relationship with Crowley is  _ none of your concern _ ,” he snarled. “I’m so  _ sick _ of your  _ constant criticism _ ! And you don’t have to speak a word to make it clear, do you?” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “With your judging eyes… your longing looks, I  _ warned _ you about looking at Crowley,  _ didn’t I _ ?” 

“I didn’t,” Gabriel protested in a hoarse, terrified whisper, shaking his head. “Please, I didn’t…”

Aziraphale slapped him again, catching his arm to steady him before he could stumble. He snapped his fingers, and all at once Gabriel was naked. He lowered a faltering hand as if to cover himself - then stopped. 

_ Not allowed. He decides.  _

Aziraphale snapped his fingers again, at the same time roughly turning Gabriel toward the item he’d just conjured. 

An ornate, antique full-length mirror. 

“You want to  _ judge _ ,” Aziraphale hissed, shaking him slightly and shoving him toward it a little. “Start  _ right here _ .” 

Gabriel caught a single glance at his reflection - and immediately looked away, ashamed. 

Aziraphale grabbed his jaw roughly, jerking his head back around to face the mirror. 

“ _ Look _ ,” he snarled. 

Reluctantly Gabriel lifted his eyes - and froze, stunned at the image that met his gaze. 

It had been a long, long time since he’d seen himself. 

His corporation was a faded shadow of what it once had been. Well-defined muscle tone had given way to wasted limbs and a slim torso - narrow enough for Aziraphale to easily slip his arm around, as he moved in close beside Gabriel and steered him firmly nearer to the ghastly, unsettling image. 

“Not half the archangel you once were… are you?” he murmured, coolly speculative eyes trailing slowly down the length of Gabriel’s reflection, drawing Gabriel’s gaze with his own. 

Gabriel shivered, his gaze falling to take in the countless marks that marred his pale skin. Dozens of bruises of varying depths - places where he’d been punched and grabbed and kicked. The echoes of memories that still ached when he looked at the marks they’d left - the hard toe of a boot that had met his thigh as he’d knelt… strong, pitiless fingers that had dug into his arms and shaken him, hard. 

Hellfire lashes wrapped around his arms, around his ribs, and Gabriel knew that it was a mercy he couldn’t see the mess that had been made of his back. As it was, the front side of his body was littered with burns from the cane and from Aziraphale’s hands - the two felt so similar that it was hard to tell the difference in the darkness of the backroom. 

“You know what these marks mean, Gabriel?” Aziraphale whispered, trailing his finger up the bare skin at Gabriel’s side, smiling when he shivered. “Each one… a lesson you’ve failed to learn. An instruction you’ve carelessly forgotten. Every last one of these marks… just one more evidence of your failure. To please me… to please  _ Her _ …”

Gabriel shuddered, looking away from the marks and into his own eyes in the mirror. 

They looked like someone else’s eyes - hollow and sunken. 

Lost and scared. 

Gabriel remembered a similar look on the faces of humans he’d appeared to over the years - and the satisfaction it had always given him - the sense of power and pride he’d felt at their response when confronted with a creature so far beyond their own abilities, so far beyond anything they had ever imagined - their  _ immediate realization _ that they were not quite so wise, not quite so much in control of their own existence, as they’d believed themselves to be. 

He remembered taking just as much satisfaction in reassuring them, with the confidence of Heavenly authority behind his words… in telling them,  _ “Be not afraid,” _ and mercifully replacing their instinctive terror with divine peace. 

“ _ Useless _ ,” Aziraphale sneered, the disgust in his voice making Gabriel’s face flush with shame.

He lowered his gaze, raising one halting, trembling hand to cover his eyes. 

There was no mercy to be found for Gabriel here. 

Aziraphale snapped his fingers sharply in Gabriel’s face - and his heart sank when he saw the desk, miraculously shifted to stand between them and the mirror. Roughly Aziraphale caught Gabriel’s arm, pulling it down away from his eyes and twisting it behind his back, shoving him down over the desk. With his free hand, Aziraphale grabbed Gabriel’s hair and jerked his head back, forcing him to look into the mirror again. 

“Watch carefully, my dove.” Aziraphale smirked, eyes alight with malicious amusement. “This is the only thing you’re actually good for.” 

Gabriel tried to think about something else, to pretend he was anywhere else, as Aziraphale shoved into him, slamming his battered body into the desk again and again. When at last he’d finished, Aziraphale stood up, straightening his own clothing, leaving Gabriel gasping for breath, slumped against the desk. 

And then, Aziraphale removed that, too. 

Gabriel collapsed to the floor, biting back a cry of pain, as Aziraphale caught his hair, forcing his head up to look into the mirror again. His face was freshly bruised from the most recent blow Aziraphale had delivered, and streaked with tears, eyes rimmed in red. 

“Next time you think of trying to gain my Crowley’s attention… trying to make him feel sorry for you… or of dragging your well-meaning, concerned sister into this… I want you to remember this image, Gabriel,” Aziraphale instructed, his words soft and cold. “What they’d be fighting for… what they’d be risking my anger, and their own well-being, for. What meager, pathetic payoff for the danger they’d be placing themselves in.” 

His cold eyes drifted slowly down Gabriel’s body, his hand in Gabriel’s hair softening to a gentle caress as he leaned in and whispered. 

“Hardly worth it. Are you, dove?” 

_ “Angel?”  _

A quick, urgent knock at the backroom door broke through the electric intensity of the moment, and Gabriel hurriedly straightened on his knees, as Aziraphale sighed wearily and called out. 

“Yes, what is it, Crowley?” 

“Are you almost finished? I want to see you!” 

Aziraphale’s irritation was clear in the taut lines of his face - but his lips broke into a cruel smile as he watched Gabriel try to pull himself together. He brightened with malicious decision as he turned toward the door. 

“Come in, darling, just finishing up,” he declared as he opened it to allow Crowley inside, sliding an arm around the demon’s waist and leading him across the room to the spot where Gabriel knelt. 

Crowley’s face fell as he took in the naked, battered archangel. 

“You do trust me, don’t you, Crowley?” Aziraphale murmured, lifting a hand to run gently through Crowley’s hair. 

“Yes, angel, of course I do,” Crowley answered without hesitation. 

Aziraphale met Gabriel’s eyes - carefully focused on Aziraphale, and not on Crowley.

“Have I done anything to harm you, Crowley?” 

Crowley blinked at him, aghast. “No, angel, you’d  _ never _ !” 

“How do you feel about the way I’ve… changed things, for you? Recently?” 

Crowley was quiet, solemn and considering. “Grateful,” he replied at last. “I’m glad you did it.” 

Aziraphale’s expression softened, though his eyes never left Gabriel’s, as he nodded once, unsurprised. “ _ What _ did I do?” he asked softly, before finally looking toward Crowley. “What did I do to you, my love?” 

“You… you made me happy again,” Crowley said, gazing up at him, tender and adoring. “You made me… fall in love with you again. I was… sad, and… confused… and you took all that away. You gave me… peace.” 

“As I thought,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a warm smile and a soft kiss on the cheek before gently pulling away from him and moving to stand over Gabriel. “You see?” 

His eyes narrowed. His smile went cold, and Gabriel shivered, instinctively bowing his body lower in a silent display of submission. It earned him no mercy; the next snap of Aziraphale’s fingers drew the cuffs up, swift and sharp, dragging Gabriel up with them as they locked onto the punishment bar over his head. 

Gabriel gasped, startled at the abrupt movement - then choked back a pleading whimper as Aziraphale moved his forefinger in a circular, winding motion, and the chains of the bar drew slowly shorter, until his toes barely brushed the floor. 

Aziraphale moved to the desk, taking out the tie he usually used for a blindfold and approaching Gabriel with slow, precise intent. As he wrapped it around Gabriel’s eyes, shutting him away in darkness, he murmured, “Crowley has exactly what he wants. As do I. He’s happy. I’m happy. As it should be, the only one suffering here… is  _ you _ .” His hand ran gently through Gabriel’s hair, then pulled his head back, as he concluded, “I’ll be back later. My Crowley is in need of some attention.”

“You’re not done punishing him yet?” Crowley sounded vaguely curious, if perhaps a little unsettled. 

“No, darling,” Aziraphale replied. “Not yet. For speaking out of turn and for attempting to come between us.”

“Oh,” Crowley said softly. 

“He deserves it.” 

“Yes, angel,” Crowley replied without hesitation.

“But he can wait. For now, I’m all yours, darling.” 

“Oh, good!” Crowley’s tone brightened “Come on, come upstairs, angel,” he said with urgent anticipation. “I’ve got a surprise for you!” 

“As you wish.” 

Aziraphale’s voice was warm with affection - but Gabriel knew. 

He’d be back before long. 

For all his talk about how happy he and Crowley were, how he now had everything he wanted - despite the demon’s obvious blind adoration - Aziraphale seemed  _ irritated _ with Crowley, more often than not. 

Gabriel had watched him grit his teeth and roll his eyes behind Crowley’s back… heard him raise his voice to Crowley in impatience… had even seen him take Crowley by the shoulders and shake him once in frustration, snapping at him to go away, he’d be finished  _ when he was finished! _

The wounded look in Crowley’s eyes, the quaver in his voice as he’d hurried to apologize, his desperation as he’d  _ begged _ Aziraphale not to be angry with him…

It was probably a mercy that Gabriel hadn’t yet regained the power of speech at the time. 

Gabriel had been kneeling on the floor he was meant to be scrubbing, fists clenched, his jaw set with anger, as he tried to focus on the task he’d been given and forcefully repressed his desire to leap to the demon’s defense. 

He hadn’t actually repressed it  _ enough _ , apparently. 

Gabriel had taken a severe whipping that day for whatever it was Aziraphale had seen in his eyes. He’d been practically shoved down the stairs, dragged to the backroom, and whipped nearly to unconsciousness - until his back was flayed open and charred black, his battered legs too weak to hold him up. He’d been left blindfolded and strung up from the ceiling, alone with his suffering, for hours. 

And then, a little while later… Aziraphale had come back. 

His footsteps had been quiet and measured. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even touched Gabriel - but a single snap of his fingers healed the worst of the burns, sealed up the bleeding lashes… and then he left the room again, without a word. 

_ He feels guilty, _ Gabriel had realized, left alone again, still in darkness behind the blindfold, but with a level of pain that was at least bearable.  _ Not for hurting me… no, I deserve it… but… for hurting Crowley.  _

_ He knows I was right about that.  _

That didn’t stop Aziraphale from occasionally, impatiently, lashing out at Crowley. 

But he hadn’t roughly laid hands on Crowley again. 

****************************************************************************************

As the weeks passed, Gabriel came to expect Aziraphale’s frustration with Crowley to be swiftly followed by violent retribution - inflicted upon  _ Gabriel _ . 

Under the guise of some flimsy accusation or excuse, Aziraphale would drag Gabriel down to the backroom, where he would viciously work out his frustrations upon Gabriel’s bound, helpless body - before leaving him there, strung up and suffering, while he returned to Crowley - his frustrations sated, capable of treating Crowley with renewed warmth and affection. 

Gabriel took some satisfaction in this. 

Suffering was his due - and inevitable. Aziraphale was going to hurt  _ him _ , anyway. If he could somehow use that to prevent Crowley from being hurt, well - it was more than a small victory. 

Though he had to admit, Crowley’s aversion to his presence… _ stung _ . 

When he wasn’t bound in the backroom, either being actively tormented and used by Aziraphale, or suffering the after-effects of the principality’s pleasure - Gabriel was in the apartment, doing chores... or waiting at Aziraphale’s feet in case he was needed. 

“Why does  _ he _ have to be here all the time?” Crowley grumbled. “Just… _ looking _ at you like that, like he’s hanging on your every word?” 

The resentful edge to his voice set off alarms in Gabriel’s head, and he swiftly averted his gaze from watching Aziraphale as he read, instead casting his eyes down toward the floor. He straightened a bit on his knees, his body tense and alert and braced for whatever response might meet Crowley’s protest. 

“Well, how am I supposed to help it if I’m just that fascinating?” Aziraphale teased. 

“It’s not funny,” Crowley insisted. “You’re  _ my _ angel, aren’t you?” 

“Of course, darling,” Aziraphale assured him, leaning in to kiss him, reaching one hand down toward Gabriel and snapping his fingers. 

Gabriel flinched, a sharp little gasp catching in his throat - but the miracle had only served to instantaneously blindfold him. He swallowed hard and kept as still as he could, his head bowed, his body thrumming with anxious anticipation. He shivered as Aziraphale’s hand fell lightly against the back of his head, caressing softly through his hair. 

“Better?” Aziraphale asked, and it took Gabriel a moment to register that the question was directed at Crowley. 

“Was sort of hoping you’d send him somewhere that’s… you know, _ else _ .” Crowley sighed. “Give him a little break. Give us some alone time.” 

Abruptly, Aziraphale gripped Gabriel’s hair and jerked his head back. His words were terse with a warning edge. 

“Have you  _ earned _ a  _ break _ , my dove?” 

Gabriel knew there was only one right answer - the one Aziraphale wanted. 

“N-no, sir,” he whispered, biting at the corner of his split lip. “I haven’t…”

“Well of course, he’d say that,” Crowley muttered. “He  _ wants _ to be up here with you.”

Gabriel didn’t argue or offer any further comments. He just kept perfectly still in Aziraphale’s grasp, trying his best to please him - and not have any further bruises added to his already extensive collection. 

“Oh, stop it,” Aziraphale murmured. “You know you’re the one I love…”

Crowley’s grumbling turned to a soft, reluctant laugh at something Aziraphale had done rather than said - and then Aziraphale’s hand left Gabriel’s head. Gabriel felt the sofa shift a bit as Aziraphale and Crowley became rather thoroughly engrossed in each other, and he went blessedly ignored for a few minutes. 

“Well, darling,” Aziraphale sighed at last, sounding a little breathless and disheveled. “I must admit you’ve made quite a compelling argument.” 

Gabriel was startled when Aziraphale grabbed his hair again, flinching when Aziraphale’s lips brushed his ear. 

“ _ Stay _ .”

Gabriel nodded hurriedly as Aziraphale released him. “Yes, sir.” 

Aziraphale and Crowley retreated to the relative privacy of the bedroom, the door shutting quietly behind them - and Gabriel tried hard not to listen to the sounds that came from the other side. He knew a bit more now than he’d known before - knew that it was possible that the soft whimpers he was hearing were sounds of pleasure rather than pain. 

But he also knew that Crowley would never have consented to this at all - not if he was in his right mind. 

He tried to shut it out, closing his eyes and pressing his face into the soft sofa cushion. 

Exhaustion overtook him - and the next thing Gabriel knew, he was being roughly shaken awake. Instinctively he lifted a hand, a startled, sleepy cry escaping his lips. Aziraphale caught him by the knot in the back of the blindfold, twisting it tight and yanking his head back. 

“Be still,” he snarled. 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, lowering his trembling hand again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Aziraphale dragged his head back tighter, his lips against Gabriel’s ear, his voice low and warning. 

“Be  _ quiet _ .” 

Gabriel barely dared a slight nod, his breath quick and shallow. 

“Crowley’s resting now,” Aziraphale informed him, his words a low, suggestive murmur that made Gabriel feel quite certain that he was not speaking of a natural sleep. “He’s earned it. He’s pleased me very much.” His tone hardened. “ _ You _ , on the other hand…”

Gabriel didn’t know what he’d done wrong. 

Half the time, he had no idea. It didn’t really matter. 

It pleased Aziraphale to hurt him - so pain was the center of his existence. 

It didn’t matter how he tried to brace for it, tried to prepare his mind for its onslaught. It didn’t matter if he could see it coming, or not. There was no time when it wasn’t present - his constant companion. His body grew more and more weary under its weight - but he was not allowed the privilege of sleep. Sometimes, when he was left alone for hours in the backroom, his body demanded it, insisted upon it. 

And Aziraphale always made him pay for it when he returned to find that sleep had claimed him. 

He called him lazy, and selfish, and worthless. 

If Gabriel was lucky, Aziraphale would string him up by his wrists, or lock the cuffs to the back of the desk, or the front of the stool. 

If he wasn’t, Aziraphale would demand…  _ more _ . 

“You will keep perfectly still all on your own,” he’d command softly, tracing his fingertips lightly over the backs of Gabriel’s hands - laid out on the stool, but not locked down to it - before swinging the cane in a whistling arc through the air and bringing it down across them. 

“You will keep your arms up until I tell you that you may lower them,” he’d order, Gabriel’s arms suspended over his head not by the cuffs they bore, but by his waning strength, and his desperation to avoid further punishment. Then, he’d employ the hellfire whip until Gabriel’s body collapsed to the floor. 

And then, he’d whip him for his disobedience. 

Gabriel tried  _ so hard _ to obey. 

“You are  _ mine _ , to do with as I will,” Aziraphale snarled at him. “And you _ will not  _ resist me!” 

“Yes, sir...” 

Gabriel would sob out the only acceptable response, wrestling with pure instinct, resisting the desire to move his hands or flinch away, to somehow evade the relentless, punishing pain. It was easier with the blindfold - easier to simply focus on the orders he’d been given, and not think about where the pain would come from next. To focus on the echo of Aziraphale’s circling steps, his world narrowed down to a pinpoint focus of  _ obedience _ . 

_ Don’t resist.  _

_ Keep still.  _

_ Don’t make a fucking sound.  _

“There we are, my dear, that’s it...” Aziraphale crooned his approval when Gabriel managed to please him, stripping the tear-soaked tie from his eyes, and laying it aside, cradling Gabriel’s face in his hand. “You’ve done so well, my good, obedient dove…”

Gabriel wept with relief, unable to resist the impulse to turn his face into Aziraphale’s hand, soaking up the sweet, fleeting praise with a desperate thirst. Immediately Aziraphale’s touch left his face, his fist clenched tight and warning in Gabriel’s hair. 

“You are  _ mine _ ,” he declared, a primally possessive snarl in Gabriel’s ear. 

“I’m yours,” Gabriel sobbed. 

“You belong to  _ me _ .” 

“I belong to you,” Gabriel echoed in immediate, unhesitating submission. “I belong to you, sir…”

“Very good,” Aziraphale said, at last relenting, kneeling on the floor next to Gabriel and pulling him into his arms, brushing a soft kiss against his damp brow. “Very good, my dove…”

He held Gabriel for a while, healing away some of his injuries, easing his pain, while the archangel wept against his chest and clung shamelessly to the scraps of comfort he was offered - an oasis in the midst of relentless suffering. 

“You know,” Aziraphale mused in one of these rare, merciful moments, his words hushed and private. “Our relationship has…  _ changed _ , recently, hasn’t it? And it seems… there ought to be a better term of address to reflect that. Don’t you think?” 

Gabriel shivered with pain and exhaustion, his mind too hazy to really comprehend what Aziraphale was getting at. “Yes, sir?” he ventured in a hoarse, tearful whisper. 

“Yes, you see…” The slight shake of his head, the faint disapproval in Aziraphale’s voice sent a shiver down Gabriel’s spine, though his gentle touch remained unchanged - fingertips running light and soothing through his hair, caressing his neck. “... that’s  _ precisely _ the bit that’s not quite ringing true for me anymore. Not quite…  _ sufficient. ‘Sir’ _ .” He repeated the word with clear distaste. “There ought to be a more adequate term.” He paused, tilting his head back to catch Gabriel’s gaze. 

“What do _ you _ think you ought to call me?” 

Gabriel froze, his heart racing - no idea what he was supposed to say. 

He wasn’t supposed to decide. 

“I - I’ll call you whatever you tell me to call you, s-sir.” He faltered over the last word, flinching a little. 

Aziraphale didn’t like it, anymore. 

Would Gabriel be punished for using it? 

Aziraphale touched his face, gentle and reassuring, his expression softened with sympathy. 

“I know you will, my dove,” he said softly. “Which is why I’d best put some careful thought into the decision. In the meantime… continue on as you have done. ‘Sir’ will do until I tell you otherwise.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel whispered, gratefully bowing his head against Aziraphale’s chest again when the principality’s hand at the back of his neck gently encouraged him to do so. 

Gabriel knew he would only get a few brief moments like this - before the pain started again. 

It was a relentless, never-ending cycle of suffering. 

Assignments he had little chance of completing to Aziraphale’s satisfaction, followed by punishment for his failures. Long hours spent in torment under the force of Aziraphale’s weapons, his hands, his cock - and then left in lonely darkness, blind and silent - with no company but the echo of his own thoughts, berating himself for his repeated mistakes that had led to his punishment. 

And worse, the quiet certainty in the back of his mind that it  _ didn’t fucking matter _ . 

Aziraphale would always find a reason.

Pain was his existence now. 

And once in a great while, when Gabriel was strung up and blindfolded in the terrifying darkness… when he had been hurt so badly that it would have been impossible for him to even _ try _ to complete his chores… or walk… or  _ think _ … 

A quiet visitation… a wordless healing. Mercy that wasn’t really mercy at all.

It only made it possible for Aziraphale to start all over again. 

Gabriel wondered why he hadn’t just  _ Fallen _ . 

If he was so deserving of such punishment… why had She chosen to allow it to happen like  _ this _ ? 

Gabriel had visited Hell a few times. He knew he hadn’t experienced it as one of its residents would have - he’d only seen the barest surface level, on his way to a high level meeting. But… he couldn’t imagine that Hell could be worse than this. 

This was worse than… than  _ anything _ . 

_ But that’s why,  _ his mind whispered, as cruel as Aziraphale had ever been.  _ That’s exactly the point. Because this is what you deserve.  _

_ You deserve _ worse  _ than Hell. She thinks so - or you wouldn’t be here.  _

_ What an absolute and utter disappointment you must be to Her. You worthless fucking failure. _

Gabriel wasn’t exactly sure how much time had passed since that day in the park. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear the birdsong, the people talking… could just barely remember the scent of the flowers, through the stench of his own burned flesh, and the hellfire ash that coated his skin. 

He longed for escape, dreamed of it in the long hours he was left alone to suffer. 

Dreams… dreams were new. 

Costly, too, because Gabriel knew he’d pay for falling asleep in the first place - but the blissful refuge they offered was irresistibly enticing. When he was chained to the bar in the backroom, blindfolded, alone with only the echoes of his punishment for company - to, for just for a little while, be transported back to his office in Heaven… to be faced with Michael’s warm smile in place of Aziraphale’s malicious sneer. 

Sometimes… 

_ Crowley _ was there. 

Gabriel frowned -  _ that wasn’t right, was it? _ \- and then startled awake to the sound of rapid, sharp footsteps. He cringed, bracing himself as the purposeful pace swiftly closed in on him. 

_ Shouldn’t have fallen asleep, he’s gonna be pissed, I’m sorry, please don’t, I’m sorry… _

He choked back a whimper, stifling the pleas that rose to his lips. 

“Shh, easy, archangel…”

Gabriel froze. 

_ Crowley’s _ voice.

Was he still dreaming? 

He had to be. The words were hushed and urgent. The hazy, vaguely lost tone Crowley used with Aziraphale these days had vanished. 

Crowley sounded like he had always sounded…  _ before _ . 

Gentle hands came to rest, firm and steadying, but careful at Gabriel’s sides. 

“You’re all right.” Crowley’s voice was a low, knowing rumble in Gabriel’s ear. “I’ve got you. Just… give me a second, yeah?” 

Gabriel didn’t dare move or speak. 

It had to be a dream. 

_ Or a trap. _

Crowley muttered under his breath, softly cursing, and Gabriel winced at the tug against the bar he was bound to. Crowley let go of him, his footsteps circling again as he sighed. Then he spoke again, with triumphant satisfaction. 

  
“Got it.” 

All at once the cuffs were free from the punishment bar, and Gabriel collapsed to the floor - his fall broken by Crowley’s gentle arms around him, catching him and going down with him. The demon’s hand tugged the blindfold free, and Gabriel blinked into the dim light, his eyes cast up toward the punishment bar. 

It was no longer there at all. 

No longer anywhere. 

“Couldn’t touch the cuffs,” Crowley explained with a little shrug. “Never said anything about the bar.” 

Gabriel stared up at Crowley, bewildered - and Crowley’s faint smile faded, his expression solemn and troubled. The demon’s lips parted, but he hesitated, his eyes anguished. 

Gabriel’s stomach lurched, and he swiftly looked away. 

_ If you so much as look at Crowley again…  _

“Hey,” Crowley said softly, touching Gabriel’s face and turning it back toward him. “It’s all right,” he insisted, quiet and reassuring. “Not gonna hurt you. Not gonna let anyone else, either. I’m - I’m  _ so sorry _ , archangel…”

At last Gabriel ventured to meet Crowley’s eyes again, hesitant. “What…”

He stopped, flinching, shaking his head. He wasn’t supposed to talk - not to Crowley, not at all - but… 

He was just so fucking  _ confused _ . 

“I don’t understand,” he confessed, glancing furtively toward the door. “Crowley, how are you even - what are you  _ doing _ ? Please, he’ll be back…”

“Soon, yeah,” Crowley agreed, terse and grim as his eyes followed Gabriel’s gaze. “We haven’t got long. I’ll explain everything, all right?” he promised with an oddly regretful grimace. “Just… we need to get out of here first.” 

Gabriel studied his face, confusion and uncertainty fading into soft assurance at the familiar warmth in Crowley’s eyes, the fierce determination shining back at him from their golden depths. 

“Okay,” Gabriel whispered. “I - I trust you.” 

Crowley winced, his eyes anguished, as he wrapped his arm a little tighter around Gabriel, pulling him close. 

“I’ve got you, archangel,” he murmured. 

Then Crowley snapped his fingers. 


	37. Chapter 37

_ Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale… _

Every moment, every bit of real estate in Crowley’s mind was occupied by thoughts of his angel - leaving little space for anyone or anything else. 

_ How can I please him? How can I give him all the things that he wants, and make him happy?  _

_ How can I somehow find a way to be worthy of his love?  _

That last one… wasn’t quite possible. 

Crowley knew that, deep in his core. Inherently,  _ who and what he was _ could never be good enough for Aziraphale. The angel deserved better than a lowly demon who wasn’t even very good at… well,  _ being a demon _ . Crowley was beyond lucky that Aziraphale had ever given him a second glance, and most of his thoughts were consumed with figuring out how he could hold onto the treasure that had inexplicably fallen into his arms. 

He  _ did _ think about other things on occasion. 

Surviving the Apocalypse. 

Keeping Hell off his back while still somehow managing to  _ not _ commit the sorts of atrocities he knew would make repeated appearances in his dreams during his occasional luxuriously long naps. 

Locating and procuring just the particular variety of fertilizer required by his latest rare flower acquisition, before it began to wilt. 

Mostly, though… Crowley’s brain was Aziraphale City. 

And then… everything fell apart. 

All of the dreams Crowley had pinned on this beautiful relationship that he’d never dared believe he’d be allowed to have - shattered by the reality of who Aziraphale  _ really _ was. A breathtaking mirage, fading into a cloying, noxious haze - the decaying corpse of Crowley’s dearest hopes, breaking through the surface of the sparkling, pristine waters where Crowley had seen only his own unfailing love reflected back at him. 

It was too much - more than Crowley  _ wanted _ to see - but eventually, he was forced to acknowledge Aziraphale for the monster that he was. His violent sadism on open display - maliciously,  _ literally _ thrown in Crowley’s face. The cruel triumph in Aziraphale’s eyes when they’d met Crowley’s, taking such satisfaction in what he’d seen there, staring back at him. 

_ Pain _ . 

Because it  _ hurt _ , like the agony of hurtling from Heaven, the sinking certainty that he was about to hit the ground,  _ hard _ . 

That he’d  _ never _ be able to  _ go back _ . 

_ But you don’t  _ deserve _ to go back - back to hiding from the truth, to choosing not to know.  _

That wouldn’t have been fair to  _ Gabriel _ \- the hapless innocent, caught up in this mess of Crowley’s making, dragged down with him into the dirt. For too long, Crowley had turned away and allowed him to suffer without doing anything about it. 

_ You have to find a way to get him out.  _

But everything Crowley had tried so far had ended in disaster. He couldn’t take the watch off of Gabriel, with the only key on Aziraphale’s hand, perpetually under his ever-watchful eye. He’d tried breaking the protective blessing Aziraphale had placed on the weapons in order to destroy them - at least without hellfire at his disposal, the damage the angel could do would be  _ limited _ \- but had been unsuccessful there, as well. 

Even Crowley’s attempts to soothe Aziraphale’s anger, to distract him away from Gabriel, generally seemed to lead only to more pain and degradation for the archangel who looked to him with such hopeful desperation in his eyes - who spoke wholly unmerited words to Crowley, repeatedly - with guileless,  _ ludicrous _ sincerity. 

_ I trust you.  _

That was where things had become…  _ complicated _ . 

Crowley’s emotions became…  _ involved _ , and he found himself unable to simply, quietly make his plans while Aziraphale was busy with Gabriel. He felt the need to try to somehow help Gabriel, somehow make things better for him,  _ in the meantime.  _

_ That was your mistake.  _

_ Among many, many others.  _

It was clear to Crowley now - making his sympathies for Gabriel so obvious to Aziraphale, fighting the angel openly and yet ineffectually - he’d only managed to make things worse for Gabriel, and draw Aziraphale’s suspicion, and hinder his own efforts toward what really mattered, what would really help Gabriel. 

_ Getting him out.  _

If he just hadn’t allowed himself to get so  _ close _ to the archangel - to care on more than a surface, general level - if he hadn’t allowed those feelings to show, accidentally encouraging  _ Gabriel’s _ feelings to develop to the point where they were unmistakable to Aziraphale… 

_ He wouldn’t have gotten so jealous. Wouldn’t be watching your every move so closely.  _

Wouldn’t have felt the need to  _ alter  _ Crowley in order to ensure his loyalty. 

But Aziraphale _ did _ alter Crowley’s mind and emotions, twisting what was there into something else, ripping away Crowley’s autonomy, dragging him into an unwilling surrender. 

And… it felt _ so good _ . 

Crowley was  _ free _ . 

No more hurt. Aziraphale loved him and wanted him, and that was all that mattered.

No more guilt. Aziraphale knew best, didn’t he? If he said what he was doing to Gabriel was necessary, well then - it was unfortunate, but there was no reason for Crowley to feel guilty about it. 

It wasn’t his decision to make. 

Pain and shame and confusion gave way to peace and happiness. 

All Crowley had to worry about was one thing:  _ loving Aziraphale _ . Making him happy. 

Crowley knew well how to do that. He’d been doing it for 6000 years. 

It was simple, and sweet, and familiar. 

Every chord in Crowley’s heart was singing the song of Aziraphale again. 

When Aziraphale kissed Crowley as if he wanted to breathe him in like life itself… when he took him into his arms and embraced him so tightly that  _ Crowley _ could barely breathe… when he dragged Crowley into their bedroom and tossed him onto the bed, following swiftly and falling upon him with primal, possessive need… 

Even when he held Crowley’s wrists too tightly, and thrust into his body too forcefully, and the pain was bright and sharp and there were hot tears flooding Crowley’s eyes and rolling down his face. 

It was good and pure and everything that Crowley wanted - restored to him. 

Aziraphale would never hurt him. 

The pain was Crowley’s own fault. If Aziraphale was a little aggressive, a little out of control - it was only because Crowley’s behavior had wounded him so deeply. Crowley had doubted and distrusted him, had gone so far as to  _ reject  _ him, and offer his loyalty up to someone else instead. 

Crowley couldn’t  _ imagine _ ever choosing  _ anyone _ else over Aziraphale. 

But… Aziraphale said that he’d done it. 

He had a vague understanding of feeling affection and concern for someone else... a hazy memory of Gabriel’s face in his mind - but it kept slipping away, overwhelmed and pushed to the back of his thoughts. Crowley’s mind was so filled up with Aziraphale that there was scarcely room for anything or anyone else. 

_ Aziraphale’s right. He always is. _

Crowley was grateful for the cuffs on his wrists - the only way that Aziraphale could ensure that Crowley wouldn’t do something so foolish, so patently  _ insane _ again. 

_ Keep me close, angel. I don’t ever want to leave you, please don’t ever let me go…  _

But… Aziraphale didn’t want to let  _ Gabriel _ go, either. 

Crowley was unhappy to see Gabriel with Aziraphale when he returned to the bookshop, but he trusted that Aziraphale knew what he was doing. If Aziraphale said this was how it had to be, then it was how it had to be. He watched Gabriel closely, wary and resentful, a sharp pang of jealousy in his chest at the way Aziraphale touched the archangel. 

But… Gabriel didn’t seem to  _ want  _ Aziraphale’s touch at all. 

It might have been a relief, except that... Aziraphale  _ kept touching _ him. 

Crowley’s vague sense of disquiet turned to _ outrage _ when Aziraphale told him that Gabriel had kissed him - and then…  _ confusion _ , when Gabriel’s primary concern seemed to be that Crowley did not burn himself on the blessed cuffs. Crowley couldn’t understand why Gabriel would care at all, and the question left him with an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Aziraphale said that Gabriel  _ didn’t  _ care. Aziraphale said he was a sneaky, conniving, manipulative liar. 

_ Must be punished. Can’t be trusted.  _

Crowley trusted  _ Aziraphale _ . 

That didn’t make witnessing Gabriel’s punishment any easier. Crowley turned his eyes away, couldn’t watch as Aziraphale took the hellfire tip of the cane Crowley had given him and shoved it into Gabriel’s mouth. The sizzling of burning flesh, the acrid scent of the smoke… Gabriel’s panicked, pleading cries that choked off into small, breathless whimpers when his throat was too damaged to scream…

It was all so very…  _ familiar _ .

Deeply unsettled, Crowley turned his head away and closed his eyes. He  _ couldn’t _ watch his angel doing this, inflicting torture with such malicious relish. Couldn’t see the cruel light in his eyes that brought to Crowley’s memory his own very similar experiences with fiery, agonizing torment, deep in the bowels of Hell. 

_ It has to happen.  _

_ Aziraphale says it has to happen. _

Mercifully, Gabriel lost consciousness after about a minute. 

Aziraphale took him down to the backroom, instructing Crowley to wait in the apartment. 

The wait felt interminable, Crowley’s mind drifting back over memories that made him shiver, that made him long to feel his angel’s arms around him. 

And then... they were. 

Aziraphale embraced Crowley tenderly, his eyes warm and loving as he held Crowley’s gaze. His hand reached up to gently touch Crowley’s face. 

“I love you so much, my darling,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “I’m so very grateful to have you back again.” 

Crowley was grateful, too. He’d been disloyal and made Aziraphale very unhappy - and his angel  _ still wanted _ him. Instead of leaving him, Aziraphale had drawn Crowley in close to him - eased his fears and soothed his mind and  _ fixed them _ . Crowley couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy, or had known such peace.

And then… Aziraphale took the cuffs off. 

All at once, everything came rushing back in a tumult of conflicting emotions - conflicting  _ realities _ . Aziraphale’s description of Gabriel, and who he was, and what he deserved, clashing abruptly with the images in Crowley’s memory of the archangel he had come to know over the past few months. The emotions Aziraphale had planted within Crowley, warring with the ones that had existed before - and now, jarringly, existed again. 

Crowley drew in a sharp gasp, blinking against the hot tears that sprang to his eyes. 

Aziraphale focused the entirety of his attention on Crowley, holding his arms to steady him, head tilted to study Crowley’s face with concern. 

“Are you all right, darling?” 

“Yeah,” Crowley whispered, nodding. “I - I’m all right, angel, just… bit of a head rush, yeah? Powers all coming back at once… just… threw me for a tick, that’s all.” 

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale frowned, uncertain. 

Crowley nodded again. “Yeah, I - I’m just so relieved that - that we’re okay again…” 

Crowley slid his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, lowering his face against the angel’s chest to hide his eyes. 

“I missed you, angel,” he whispered, barely able to breathe out the words past the sharp ache in his chest. “Missed you… so much…” 

_ Miss you still. Who you were.  _

_ Who I  _ thought _ you were. _

The taste of the love he’d lost lingered in Crowley’s heart - the tearing pain of having it ripped away again, fresh and sharp and agonizing. Cold, painful reality had flooded back in, swallowing up the warm haze of illusion, and bringing with it all the pain, betrayal, and loss Crowley had just begun to figure out how to live with.

But… one thing Crowley was  _ not, _ anymore, was confused, or uncertain as to his course of action. 

He had perfect clarity now. 

He knew the part he had to play. 

Adoring eyes and warm arms embracing his angel... explaining away little slights and stings, forgiving them without hesitation... fawning over Aziraphale almost worshipfully, hanging on his every word and taking it deeply to heart… prioritizing Aziraphale’s happiness, Aziraphale’s desires, over his own at all times. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t find such behavior suspicious. 

No, now that he’d…  _ reinforced _ Crowley’s love for him - he’d bloody well  _ expect _ it. 

_ It was your reality for millennia… and you’ve just had a refresher course.  _

It was a role Crowley knew he could play convincingly. 

He’d lived it since the Garden Wall. 

*****************************************************************************************

“Crowley, fucking  _ finally _ . It’s been  _ days _ . Are you okay?” 

Despite his exhaustion, and the razor’s edge on which his nerves were so precariously balanced - a ghost of a smile touched Crowley’s lips at Anathema’s familiar voice, and the familiar fire it held. 

“I’m fine, love, promise. It’s just been… hard to get away.” 

“And you can’t call me to  _ tell  _ me that?” 

Crowley could have. He had little excuse besides the guilt that overwhelmed him whenever he talked to her - the reminder of how far he was in reality from what she thought he was.

That… and the knowledge that he had to be  _ very careful _ not to arouse Aziraphale’s suspicions. For the moment, Aziraphale believed Crowley to be fully under his control - which allowed Crowley a certain measure of freedom he needed if he was going to bring his plans to fruition. 

Crowley knew - if he blew this now, he’d never get another chance. 

“I texted you back, said I’d call as soon as I could. You got those, right?” 

“Text messages,” Anathema huffed with a note of disgust. “Could just as easily have been Aziraphale, after doing something horrible to you…”

“ _ Please _ ,” Crowley scoffed. “Aziraphale doesn’t  _ own _ a cell phone, and he certainly has no idea how to use mine. I’m being careful, love,” he assured her. “I know how to take care of myself.” 

“Just…” Anathema sighed. “... think about it from my perspective for a second, okay? The last time I talked to you, you said you’d been researching ways to break an angel’s blessing, and you thought you’d found it… which, I still don’t know _ why _ you’d need to do that. Blessings are by definition...  _ good _ , right?” 

“Unless you’re a demon,” Crowley pointed out flatly. 

Anathema was quiet. “Oh. That… does not make me feel any better. Anyway… you were talking all hushed, Crowley -  _ whispering _ like you were  _ afraid _ he’d hear you, and just  _ happened _ to mention that - oh, by the way - he’s apparently  _ scary levels of powerful _ all of a sudden? You were going to get me something of his to analyze - and then I don’t hear from you, you don’t answer your phone for days. I tried locator spells, Crowley.  _ Spells _ , plural. They wouldn’t work. I couldn’t find you. I’ve been… kinda panicking over here, dumbass.” 

Crowley frowned. 

While he’d been wearing the cuffs that same day, it made sense that Anathema would not have been able to locate him with magic. 

_ But… after that…  _

_ What sort of  _ measures _ have you taken, angel? To conceal your sins from those who’d seek them out?  _

“I was really worried,” Anathema persisted, her voice small and uncertain. 

“I’m sorry,” Crowley conceded at last, lifting one hand to press against his eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just - I have to be careful so he doesn’t catch on. Anyway, I - I think I’ve got what you need. Something he’s used, touched with his hands, put in his mouth…”

“Oh, you’re coming to see me?” 

Crowley blinked. “Oh, that’s real nice, love. Just hilarious.”

“Really not,” she replied, all traces of humor fading from her voice and leaving only grim concern. “What have you got for me?” 

“A set of chopsticks he used at dinner the other night. Will that work?” 

“It should do.”

Crowley frowned, thinking. “I’m not sure I can get away to get them to you… maybe in a day or so? I’ve been going along with him… acting like I’m okay with things, and - he trusts me more now, but… I just don’t wanna risk fucking that up. Risking our chance.”

“So you could just… miracle them to me. Right? That’s a thing you can do?” 

Crowley blinked. “Yeah. That is a thing I can do. And will do right now.” He sighed, shaking his head as he opened the dresser drawer and took out the chopsticks, holding them in one hand and snapping his fingers with the other. “Got them?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, these will work just fine.” 

“Don’t know where my head’s at, should have thought of that,” Crowley muttered. “Just… bloody exhausted, and… sorry, love. No wonder this is all going so slowly.” 

“I shouldn’t have reminded you.” Anathema’s voice was soft and sad. “Should have let you bring them in person. I really want to see you.” 

“I know,” Crowley acknowledged, his heart aching with the desire to be with his friend. “Soon, I hope. I just… don’t want him to follow me. To catch me…”

“To  _ catch _ you?” she echoed, indignant. “Committing the horrible offense of  _ visiting your friend _ ? Crowley, this is sounding worse all the time.” 

_ You don’t know the half of it, love.  _

“It’s tricky, love,” he tried to vaguely half-explain. “If he suspects something is off…”

“Happy smiling Stepford Crowley is what’s  _ off _ ,” Anathema retorted. “Don’t you think  _ that’ll  _ make him suspicious?” 

Aziraphale’s confident smile filled Crowley’s mind, his insufferable certainty as he instructed Crowley to “wait here” and “don’t worry” and  _ “trust me” _ ... all while inflicting unspeakable brutality on Gabriel, with no doubt whatsoever that Crowley would comply. 

Aziraphale had no question that Crowley would comply with  _ whatever _ he asked. 

_ “Come, have a cup of tea with me, my love, all that coffee isn’t good for your nerves…” _

_ “Why don’t you go have a nap? You’ve been a bit overwrought this afternoon, it’ll do you good…” _

Crowley glanced down at the royal blue shirt he was wearing - a recent gift from Aziraphale. 

_ “Quite a fetching color on you, darling, and it’s high time you considered expanding your wardrobe beyond the typical demonic cliches, don’t you think? You’ll give it a try, won’t you? For me?”  _

Crowley’s mind flashed to a vivid image of Gabriel standing at the ironing board - his battered, careful hands working over the shirt, painstakingly pressing it to perfection, until - like everything else that belonged to Aziraphale - it met the principality’s ruthlessly exacting standards. 

Crowley knew - the shirt wasn’t  _ really _ a  _ gift _ so much as it was a symbol… a mark of Aziraphale’s ownership. 

Aziraphale had given  _ Gabriel _ a blue shirt, too, once - to cover the more visceral mark seared into the archangel’s flesh. 

“No,” Crowley said in a tone of quiet confession, idly crumpling the silken fabric between his fingers. “He thinks he’s got me… right where he wants me.” 

Anathema fell silent. “He thinks he… he tried to whammy you?” 

Crowley closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “He  _ did _ … whammy me.” 

“What the  _ fuck _ .” Anathema sounded equal parts frightened and furious, as if she wanted to come down the phone line and stand between Crowley and Aziraphale herself. “Did he take your glasses?” 

“No, I’ve… still got ‘em,” Crowley assured her, “and they’re working now, it’s just… there was… interference.”

Crowley could hear the suspicious frown in her voice. “What kind of interference?” 

“Something he’d blessed. A - pair of handcuffs.” 

Anathema took a moment to rein in her anger - and when she spoke again, she hadn’t quite managed it. “He put you in a pair of blessed handcuffs?” She paused, her tone more thoughtful and troubled when she went on, “And he was able to fuck with your head? What did he do?” 

“He just made me…” Crowley winced, swallowing against the ache in his throat. “... more cooperative. So I’d go along with what he’s doing. But… he didn’t know about the glasses, wasn’t  _ trying _ to counteract them. He just wanted to, uh… hold me still.” 

“ _ Fuck _ . I’ll kill him.” 

“Easy, Book Girl,” Crowley soothed her, both worried and warmed by the fiercely protective sound of her voice, and momentarily relieved for whatever Aziraphale had done that meant she couldn’t find them. “He took them off when he was done, and… it went away. I was… me again.”

“Who the fucking fuck does he think he is?” Anathema seethed. “Fuck him. No,  _ really don’t _ , Crowley, I swear, but… just fuck him.” 

“Yeah, I - I know what you mean,” Crowley sighed. 

He closed his eyes tight, but it did nothing to dispel the vivid images that flooded his mind, from the time when he’d still been caught up in Aziraphale’s spell. He tried to force the memories out, to not think about them too closely. 

Thinking about it made him feel cold, and sick, and scared. 

“So… handcuffs are circular, and they were… on your wrists, right? Encircling angelic magic like that would counteract yours,” Anathema explained, thinking it through as she went along. “It works by cutting off your essence, locking it down - shutting it off from interacting with the rest of the world. I made the charm from your glasses so that it would be… tied into your essence. To protect  _ specifically you _ . Right?” 

“Right…” Crowley said, quietly questioning, carefully following her train of logic. 

“So with your essence locked away, the charm basically… couldn’t find you, you know? Couldn’t connect with you, and therefore couldn’t protect you from his control.” 

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed, nodding slowly. “That makes sense.” 

Perhaps that was why he’d been caught by surprise when Aziraphale had returned to the bookshop with Gabriel, while Crowley had still been wearing the cuffs, and waiting for him in lovesick impatience. 

_ Maybe with your essence locked away…  _ Time _ couldn’t reach you, either, to warn you. _

“Crowley… why does he even  _ have _ a pair of  _ blessed handcuffs _ ?” There was an edge to Anathema’s voice, a quiet protective fury. 

Crowley swallowed, hesitant to tell her too much just yet. 

“They… weren’t intended for me.” 

“For… Gabriel?” She sounded understandably confused. “But… he’s an archangel. How could a blessing…” 

“They aren’t  _ just _ blessed. It’s a long story.” He sighed. “And the short version is… I suck.” 

“And you won’t tell me the long version,” Anathema concluded with quiet resignation. “Because… I’ll hate you.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said softly, closing his eyes against the hot, shameful tears that burned there. “And… I can’t let you do that until you’ve helped me to free Gabriel. He… doesn’t deserve this. Never did. Everything Aziraphale ever told me about him - he said he was a threat, said he was our  _ enemy _ … made him sound like a  _ monster _ …” Crowley couldn’t quite keep the note of pleading desperation from his voice. “But, now that I’ve spent a bit of time around him… it doesn't track. All those things Aziraphale said... none of it seems to  _ fit _ , you know? He's been making it all up, or at least…  _ very wrong  _ about him. He’s not selfish or stupid. A bit vain, maybe, yeah, or... used to be."

Crowley closed his eyes, feeling a little sick at the vivid mental image of the once proud archangel, on his knees in rags scrubbing centuries of filth from Aziraphale's floors. 

"He tries, hard, to do what's expected of him, to... to  _ please _ . He's... thoughtful, and kind, and self-sacrificing. Pretty sharp when he’s not freaking out. Funnier than I expected. He tries…  _ so hard _ , love, even when it gets him  _ fucking nowhere _ , and… he  _ trusts _ me…” 

Crowley choked back a sob that caught him by surprise, swallowing and taking a moment to regain his composure before concluding, quiet and heartbroken. 

“He shouldn’t, but… he trusts me.”

After a moment’s weighted silence, Anathema spoke with soft, tender sincerity. 

“What do you need?”

“I just - have to help him,” Crowley replied helplessly, his words halting and heavy. “Please… help me to help him. I - I _ did  _ this to him, love, and - I have to undo it. I have to - to get him out.” 

“I still don’t know what  _ this _ is,” Anathema gently reminded him. 

“You help me do this,” Crowley promised, his voice thick with tearful resignation, “I’ll tell you everything. But… after.”

“Of course I’ll help you, Crowley,” Anathema assured him. “I’m on this, just as quick as I can figure it out. And… we’ll deal with after,  _ after _ .” 

Crowley felt a deep sense of relief at her commitment - but his heart sank as he disconnected the call, and realized. 

It was the first time she hadn’t promised to forgive him. 

*************************************************************************************************

During the weeks that followed, Crowley found himself caught in a precarious balancing act. 

He tried to focus on the memory of what it had felt like when he  _ did _ love Aziraphale - what it had felt like in the rosy haze of false feelings when he’d still been under Aziraphale’s spell - and then did his best to act like  _ that. _ To accept Aziraphale’s explanations and decisions without question. To look at him with adoration and devotion. To eagerly welcome, and even  _ initiate _ , physical contact between them at every opportunity - even though it made him sick. 

Seeing what Aziraphale did to Gabriel made him sicker. 

While he’d been under Aziraphale’s control, Crowley clearly remembered watching impassively as Aziraphale had slapped Gabriel and kicked him, dragging him around, jerking him in close and threatening him. He had a vivid mental image of Gabriel’s panicked, pleading eyes - never quite daring to make contact with his. 

All Crowley had thought about during those moments was how badly he wanted Aziraphale’s attention focused on  _ him _ , again - and  _ off  _ of the archangel. 

So, he pushed Aziraphale for that attention, making a show of trying hard to claim Aziraphale as his. 

Sometimes, he pushed  _ too hard _ , on purpose - until Aziraphale would reject him.

Certain of Crowley’s unfailing adoration no matter  _ what  _ he did, Aziraphale was shockingly rough with Crowley. Snapping at him, shoving him away when he’d had enough of his wheedling advances - even grabbing his arms and shaking him once. In all the time they’d spent together, Aziraphale had never physically hurt Crowley - and it stung that he would _ especially now _ , when to his knowledge, Crowley was so desperately dependent upon him, utterly at his mercy. 

Crowley had to suppress his rising indignation, the sharp retort just behind his lips. 

He didn’t have to fake the tears. 

But when Aziraphale would turn away from him and take Gabriel down to the backroom, Crowley would swiftly go to work - trying his best to shut out the muffled cries and other troubling sounds he heard from downstairs, and focus on the task at hand. He would summon supplies he usually kept at his flat, or books from Aziraphale’s shelves. 

If he needed to go out, he could easily do so under the guise of procuring some special surprise for “his angel”. 

He did his best to make good use of the time while he waited for Anathema to call - his phone carefully silenced so as not to alert Aziraphale when she did. 

Other times… Crowley was just a little more subtle. 

He would slip up close to Aziraphale’s side, making his eyes wide and uncertain, pleading for Aziraphale’s affection and attention, so softly, with such perfect submission that Aziraphale could not possibly have turned him away. 

And Gabriel would get a break. 

Crowley remembered what it felt like to love Aziraphale, and knew how to fake it well. 

He remembered what it felt like to  _ want _ Aziraphale, too. 

He remembered when Aziraphale’s touch felt like fire - and every part of Crowley’s body he hadn’t yet touched would _ burn  _ for him. It had felt like that under Aziraphale’s control, too - this all-consuming need for Aziraphale that made him desperate, filled him with an urgency to please, to give Aziraphale whatever he wanted, however he wanted it if only he would  _ never stop touching him _ . 

Even when Aziraphale’s touch hurt. 

Even when he pinned Crowley down and gripped his wrists so tight they  _ ached _ , blue eyes blazing into his with accusation and possessive fury. Even when he slammed into him with purposefully punishing thrusts, one hand locked around Crowley’s throat  _ just enough _ to cut off his breath. 

Even when Crowley’s desperate cry of  _ “Yes, yours, angel, only yours!” _ was rasped out in fearful submission - it still held  _ every last ounce _ of Crowley’s honest devotion. 

There had been bruises on Crowley’s wrists, on his throat, by the time Aziraphale came back with Gabriel - covered by his clothing, but peeking out just a little when his sleeves or his collar would shift - though they vanished within minutes, once the cuffs came off and Crowley’s natural healing was released to do its work. 

He still felt bruised and battered, aching on the inside, every time he remembered the way Aziraphale had taken him, and the way he’d believed that he wanted it. 

The way Aziraphale had  _ forced _ him to want it. 

Like his heart had been blindsided - jumped in a dark alley, beaten and kicked to oblivion while it was down and helpless.

By the one being Crowley had loved more than anyone else, ever. 

The bruises were gone - but Crowley had been hurt in ways he’d never expected, had not been prepared for, and couldn’t begin to imagine how to heal. 

And every time Crowley approached Aziraphale, quietly coaxing, expressing his desire  _ just enough _ to get the angel to give in - it felt as if those unseen bruises were being pressed into, cruelly kneaded, awakening that sharp ache deep in his heart. 

It hurt that he had to practically  _ beg _ for Aziraphale’s attention. 

And it hurt when he got it. 

It hurt how Aziraphale would hold him, so gently at first, like a cherished glass doll he treasured too much to break… and then would become more forceful, driven by his frustration to violence, his touch rougher and more demanding as he gripped Crowley’s wrists and manhandled him and held him down and choked him and whispered in his ear in a voice that trembled with resentful fury. 

_ “This is what makes me happy, Crowley. You like making me happy, don’t you? You love me… you trust me… I’d never hurt you, darling, I just need a  _ little bit more…”

Aziraphale ruthlessly took what he wanted - then held Crowley gently until he’d stopped trembling, stroking his hair and his back, kissing his tears away as he told Crowley how pleased he was with him, and how much he loved him - smiling with soft affection when Crowley echoed back the words, hoarse and breathless, looking up at Aziraphale through tearful, adoring eyes. 

And the treasured glass doll was left in shattered pieces on the bed, Aziraphale’s words echoing past the ringing in his ears. 

_ “So good and sweet for me, my darling, my love…” _

Crowley had been, for so long - long before Aziraphale had forced his devotion. 

_ Which is why you deserve this.  _

_ His good, sweet, submissive little toy… giving away bits of your conscience, bits of your blackened soul, and letting him have whatever he wanted for so long…  _

_ … while Gabriel’s been suffering a thousand times as much as this.  _

_ Still is.  _

_ So good and obedient you’ve been for Aziraphale, haven’t you?  _

_ And this is the reward you’ve earned.  _

**************************************************************************************************

A couple of weeks passed, and Crowley did not hear from Anathema. 

Perhaps she had had no luck in determining the source of Aziraphale’s power, or any means of counteracting his blessing. 

Perhaps she’d finally managed to piece together from the bits of information he’d granted her that Crowley was no one she should be wasting her time on.

Gabriel, _ though…  _ he  _ deserves her help.  _

Crowley lounged idly on the sofa, pretending to be bored and mildly irritated, but otherwise not all that concerned as Aziraphale berated the archangel, screaming at him and slapping him when he dared to express a soft, pleading whimper. 

_ Gabriel deserves so much better than this.  _

In the end, Crowley supposed, it didn’t matter if Anathema had given up on him. 

Crowley had not given up on Gabriel. 

And he was less than a day from completing his plan. 

It wasn’t long before Aziraphale dragged Gabriel from the room and down the stairs, and Crowley found himself alone in the apartment. He waited about fifteen minutes before deciding that it was safe to continue his nearly finished project, and going into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He snapped his fingers, magically transporting a box made of dark, glossy wood from the security of the safe in his flat across town, directly into his own hands. He opened it, setting aside the bit of carefully mingled metal and magic that lay on top, and taking out the folded sheet of paper beneath it, covered over front and back with his own handwriting. 

He read it over for a minute, frowning, before sighing and placing it back in the box, focusing his attention on his nearly finished work. Unless Aziraphale grew very quickly bored with tormenting Gabriel - an activity in which he found nearly endless amusement - Crowley’s plan would be complete before he was finished with the archangel. 

He just needed to make sure he had the instructions right. 

Crowley closed his eyes and snapped his fingers again, summoning a book of Aziraphale’s that he’d borrowed quite frequently during the past few weeks, studying it closely whenever he could feel certain there was no chance of Aziraphale’s finding it missing, or catching him with it. 

_ If he caught me reading this book, that’d be it. Game over. He’d know I’ve been playing him - and I’d never get another chance. _

The book had been open on the bed in front of him for a few minutes when his phone began to vibrate beside it. 

Crowley smiled when he saw Anathema’s name, his shoulders falling with relief. 

“Hey, Book Girl.” 

“Crowley…” Anathema’s tone was terse and heavy with dread. “... I don’t know what you’re not telling me, what Aziraphale’s been up to exactly, but it’s got to be pretty bad…”

“Understatement,” Crowley muttered, idly rolling the bit of metal in his hand over and over again. “What are you on about?” 

“I used those chopsticks to magically analyze Aziraphale’s essence, like I said I would, and… I think I know why the unblessing spells you tried before wouldn’t work. It’s because his essence has... changed. The blessing you’re trying to break… I think, when he performed it, he - wasn’t strictly an angel anymore. The lingering traces of his aura where he’d touched those chopsticks showed… something else.” 

Crowley froze, his stomach clenched with a sinking sensation - a dread of something he’d been expecting for a while, and wondering why it hadn’t happened already. 

“He’s fallen?” His voice was hoarse and shaky. “Or… falling?” 

“Not exactly…”

Crowley ran one finger slowly down the page before him, swallowing hard - vaguely relieved, but still not sure he wanted to hear what was coming next. Then he froze, blinking down at the worn paper beneath his fingertips, and leaning in to examine it more closely. 

“Hang on…”

“Crowley, this is important,” Anathema insisted. “It’s incredibly alarming. It means he’s really dangerous, and it’s something you should know…”

“I already know he’s really dangerous,” Crowley countered, his attention very distracted. 

He couldn’t think of anything more alarming than what he’d just found. 

Or rather…  _ not _ found. 

The page  _ following _ the section he’d been studying, the section Aziraphale had pointed out to him all those months ago - was gone. It had not been ripped out hastily; minimal damage had been done to the book itself. But it looked as if the page had been carefully sliced out of the book, with a razor or a box knife. 

“Yeah, he’s… really  _ not _ himself, love,” he concluded, hushed with quiet dismay. “Not if he’s going about defacing his own books.” 

“ _ What? _ ” Anathema’s tone spoke of a disbelief to rival Crowley’s. 

“He gave me this book, before all this started… so I could use my infernal magic to… make something he wanted. But he didn’t want me to see everything the book said about it. He cut a page out.” 

Dubious and worried, Anathema asked, “What did he have you make?”

Crowley hesitated. 

“I already know it’s bad,” Anathema reminded him quietly. “Just tell me, Crowley.” 

“It’s, uh… tethering magic, to… to bind Gabriel to him, so he couldn’t get away from Aziraphale, and Aziraphale could always, uh… make him come back.”

“To connect them.” Anathema’s words were slow and thoughtful. 

“Well, yeah, I guess.” Crowley frowned. “Like a tether.” 

“Or like a power cord,” Anathema muttered. 

“What?” 

“Can you find the missing page, where he might have put it? Or… fix it, maybe? I think we  _ really _ need to know what it says. Whatever you made, whatever magic it is… I think it does more than just serve as a magical leash.” 

Crowley considered the challenge for a moment. Trying to locate the original page was not possible; Crowley would have placed a bet on his certainty that if the page had not been destroyed completely, it was locked away in a drawer of Aziraphale’s desk, where he could not reach it. 

But… he could  _ recreate _ it. 

Not so different from an extreme act of healing, like regrowing a severed limb, or repairing singed fabric and restoring it to newness. 

_ Everything’s got a bit of life in it…  _

Crowley focused his energy on the bit of the page that was left, stretching his hand out from it, and drawing the rest of it out of thin air, restoring it to its original state. 

It was disappointing how  _ utterly unsurprised _ he was by what he found. 

_ Aziraphale, you fucking bastard.  _

“He planned this all along,” Crowley realized aloud. “Kept it from me when I first made it for him. So I wouldn’t know what all it was capable of. Been using Gabe like his own personal battery pack, all this time.” He paused, something about Anathema’s words finally registering with him. “His essence… it’s not part demon, is it?” 

“No,” Anathema confirmed. “It’s stronger than that. Stronger than… just about anything. I think - I think maybe it’s part…”

Crowley knew what she was going to say before she said it - his mind filled with the vivid image of shadowed violet eyes, Gabriel’s battered body growing weaker, weary legs struggling to hold him up, exhausted and trembling… while Aziraphale became more and more powerful all the time. 

“... part  _ archangel _ ,” Anathema concluded, then went quiet for a moment. “But… you knew that.” 

“Didn’t want to,” Crowley admitted, soft and grim. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever power he’s taken… he won’t have it much longer. I’m just about ready to make my move.” 

“Crowley, are you kidding?” Anathema snapped. “What part of  _ archangelic power _ don’t you understand? He’s a  _ lot  _ stronger than you...” 

“Not for long,” Crowley reiterated, scanning the page and double checking what he thought he’d read - filing the information away and applying it to what Anathema had told him before about the cuffs, and how they worked. “Not according to this.” 

“Crowley, talk to me,” Anathema pressed with gentle urgency. “What can I do? I want to help.”

“You already have.” 

“ _ Crowley _ …”

“Ward your house,” Crowley instructed her firmly. “Against angels, archangels, demons - all of us. Make sure you’re safe until this is over.”

“Until  _ what _ is over?” Anathema demanded with clear frustration. “Crowley, what are you going to do?” 

Crowley’s thoughts went back to Gabriel - the endless suffering that his existence had become. There was no mercy, no comfort left to him - only pain and humiliation, heaped upon him until he could hold no more - and then heaped on him again. 

_ It has to end.  _

_ One way or another… it _ has  _ to _ . 

He closed the book in front of him, firmly and decisively, his jaw set with grim determination. 

“I’m going to cut off his power supply.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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